THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

Richard  Davidson 


/ 


THE    WORKS    OF 
WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 


KENSINGTON    EDITION 
VOLUME    III 


The  Letter  before  Waterloo 


VANITY   FAIR 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO 


BY 


WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 


WITH    THE    AUTHOR'S    ILLUSTRATIONS 


VOLUME    III 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1903 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS 


ObO  U 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

xLvii  Gaunt    House 1 

xLviii  In  which  the  Reader  is  Introduced  to  the 

Verv  Best  of  Company 15 

XLix  In    which   We   Enjoy   Three   Courses   and   a 

Dessert        33 

L  Contains   a   Vulgar   Incident 45 

LI  In  which  a  Charade  is  Acted  which  May  or 

May  Not   Puzzle  the  Reader 59 

LH  In  which  Lord  Steyne  Shows  Himself  in  a 

Most    Amiable   Light 86 

Liii  A  Rescue  and  a  Catastrophe 102 

Liv  Sunday  After  the  Battle 116 

Lv  In  which  the  Same  Subject  is  Pursued  .      .  130 

Lvi  Georgy  is  Made  a  Gentleman 153 

Lvii  Eothen 172 

Lviii  Our  Friend  the  Major 185 

Lix  The  Old  Piano 202 

i,x  Returns  to  the  Genteel  World 219 

Lxi  In  which  Two  Lights  are  Put  Out  ....  229 

Lxii  Am   Rhein 250 

Lxiii  In  which  We  Meet  an  Old  Acquaintance  .     .  267 


6114 52 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACE 

Lxiv  A  Vagabond  Chapter 284 

I.XV  Full  of  Business  and  Pleasure 309 

LXVI    AmANTIUM     iRiE 32J2 

Lxvii  Which   Contains   Births,   Marriages,   and 

Deaths 345 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Letter  before  Waterloo Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Becky  in  Lombard  Street .     »     .  30 

Georgy  goes  to  church  genteelly  o      .....     .  56 

The  Triumph  of  Clytemxestra 76 

Colonel  Crawley  is  wanted 84 

Sir   Pitt's  Study-chair 118 

Georgy    a    Gentleman 154 

Mr.  Jos's  Hookahbadar 186 

A    Meeting 194 

A  p'iNE  Summer  Evening ,      .     .     .  256 

Jos  performs  a  Polonaise 270 

Becky's  second  appearance  in  the  character  of 

Clytemnestra ,  366 

Virtue  rewarded:  A  booth  ix  ^^\^•ITY  Fair  ....  368 


VANITY  FAIR 

A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO 


CHAPTER  XLVII 


GAUXT  HOUSE 


LL  the  world  knows  that  Lord 
Steyne's  town  palace  stands  in  Gaunt 
Square,  out  of  which  Great  Gaunt 
Street  leads,  whither  we  first  con- 
ducted Rebecca,  in  the  time  of  the 
departed  Sir  Pitt  Crawley.  Peering 
over  the  railings  and  through  the 
black  trees  into  the  garden  of  the 
Square,  you  see  a  few  miserable  gov- 
ernesses with  wan-faced  pupils  wan- 
dering round  and  round  it,  and  round 
the  dreary  grass-plot  in  the  centre  of 
which  rises  the  statue  of  Lord  Gaunt, 
who  fought  at  IMinden,  in  a  three- 
tailed  wig,  and  otherwise  habited  like  a  Roman  Em- 
peror. Gaunt  House  occupies  nearly  a  side  of  the 
Square.  The  remaining  three  sides  are  composed  of 
mansions  that  have  passed  away  into  dowagerism; — tall, 
dark  houses,  with  window-frames  of  stone,  or  picked  out 
of  a  lighter  red.  I^ittle  light  seems  to  be  behind  those 
lean,  comfortless  casements  now:  and  hospitality  to  have 
passed  away  from  those  doors  as  much  as  the  laced  lac- 

<]ueys  and  link-boys  of  old  times,  who  used  to  put  out 

VOL.  in. 


2  VANITY   FAIR 

their  torches  in  the  blank  iron  extinguishers  that  still 
flank  the  lamps  over  the  steps.  Brass  plates  have  pene- 
trated into  the  Square— Doctors,  the  Diddlesex  Bank 
Western  Branch — the  English  and  European  Reunion, 
&c. — it  has  a  dreary  look — nor  is  my  Lord  Steyne's  pal- 
ace less  dreary.  All  I  have  ever  seen  of  it  is  the  vast 
wall  in  front,  with  the  rustic  columns  at  the  great  gate, 
through  which  an  old  porter  peers  sometimes  with  a  fat 
and  gloomy  red  face — and  over  the  wall  the  garret  and 
bed-room  windows,  and  the  chimneys,  out  of  which  there 
seldom  comes  any  smoke  now.  For  the  present  Lord 
Steyne  lives  at  Naples,  preferring  the  view  of  the  Bay 
and  Capri  and  Vesuvius,  to  the  dreary  aspect  of  the  wall 
in  Gaunt  Square. 

A  few  score  yards  down  New  Gaunt  Street,  and  lead- 
ing into  Gaunt  jNIews  indeed,  is  a  little  modest  back 
door,  which  you  would  not  remark  from  that  of  any  of 
the  other  stables.  But  many  a  little  close  carriage  has 
stopped  at  that  door,  as  my  informant  (little  Tom 
Eaves,  who  knows  ever5i:hing,  and  who  showed  me  the 
place)  told  me.  "  The  Prince  and  Perdita  have  been  in 
and  out  of  that  door,  sir,"  he  has  often  told  me;  "  jNIari- 

anne  Clarke  has  entered  it  with  the  Duke  of .     It 

conducts  to  the  famous  petits  appartements  of  Lord 
Steyne — one,  sir,  fitted  up  all  in  ivory  and  white  satin, 
another  in  ebony  and  black  velvet;  there  is  a  little  ban- 
queting-room  taken  from  Sallust's  house  at  Pompeii,  and 
painted  by  Cosway — a  little  private  kitchen,  in  which 
every  saucepan  was  silver,  and  all  the  spits  were  gold. 
It  was  there  that  Egalite  Orleans  roasted  partridges 
on  the  night  when  he  and  the  IVIarquis  of  Steyne  won 
a  hundred  thousand  from  a  great  personage  at  ombre. 
Half  of  the  money  went  to  the  French  Revolution,  half 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  3 

to  purchase  Lord  Gaimt's  jNIarquisate  and  Garter— and 
the  remainder — "  but  it  forms  no  part  of  our  scheme  to 
tell  what  became  of  the  remainder,  for  every  shilling  of 
which,  and  a  great  deal  more,  little  Tom  Eaves,  who 
knows  everybody's  affairs,  is  readj^  to  account. 

Besides  his  town  palace,  the  INIarquis  had  castles  and 
palaces  in  various  quarters  of  the  three  kingdoms, 
whereof  the  descriptions  may  be  found  in  the  road-books 
—  Castle  Strongbow,  with  its  woods,  on  the  Shannon 
shore;  Gaunt  Castle,  in  Carmarthenshire,  where  Richard 
II.  was  taken  prisoner— Gauntly  Hall  in  Yorkshire, 
where  I  have  been  informed  there  were  two  hundred  sil- 
ver teapots  for  the  breakfasts  of  the  guests  of  the  house, 
with  everything  to  correspond  in  splendour;  and  Still- 
brook  in  Plampshire,  which  was  my  lord's  farm,  an  hum- 
ble place  of  residence,  of  which  we  all  remember  the 
wonderful  furniture  which  was  sold  at  my  lord's  demise 
by  a  late  celebrated  auctioneer. 

The  JNIarchioness  of  Steyne  was  of  the  renowned  and 
ancient  family  of  the  Caerlyons,  Marquises  of  Camelot, 
who  have  preserved  the  old  faith  ever  since  the  conver- 
sion of  the  venerable  Druid,  their  first  ancestor,  and 
whose  pedigree  goes  far  beyond  the  date  of  the  arrival 
of  King  Brute  in  these  islands.  Pendragon  is  the  title 
of  the  eldest  son  of  the  house.  The  sons  have  been  called 
Arthurs,  Uthers,  and  Caradocs,  from  immemorial  time. 
Their  heads  have  fallen  in  many  a  loj^al  conspiracy. 
Elizabeth  chopped  off  the  head  of  the  Arthur  of  her 
day,  who  had  been  Chamberlain  to  Philip  and  Mary, 
and  carried  letters  between  the  Queen  of  Scots  and  Iier 
uncles  the  Guises.  A  cadet  of  the  house  was  an  officer 
of  the  great  Duke,  and  distinguished  in  the  famous 
Saint  Bartholomew  conspiracy.     During  the  whole  of 


4  VANITY   FAIR 

Mary's  confinement,  the  house  of  Camelot  conspired  in 
her  behalf.  It  was  as  much  injured  by  its  charges  in  fit- 
ting out  an  armament  against  the  Spaniards,  during  the 
time  of  the  Armada,  as  by  the  fines  and  confiscations 
levied  on  it  by  Elizabeth  for  harbouring  of  priests,  ob- 
stinate recusanc}'',  and  Popish  misdoings.  A  recreant 
of  James's  time  was  momentarily  perverted  from  his  re- 
ligion by  the  arguments  of  that  great  theologian,  and  the 
fortunes  of  the  family  somewhat  restored  by  his  timely 
weakness.  But  the  Earl  of  Camelot,  of  the  reign  of 
Charles,  returned  to  the  old  creed  of  his  family,  and  they 
continued  to  fight  for  it,  and  ruin  themselves  for  it,  as 
long  as  there  was  a  Stuart  left  to  head  or  to  instigate  a 
rebellion. 

Lady  Mary  Caerlyon  was  brought  up  at  a  Parisian 
convent ;  the  Dauphiness  INIarie  Antoinette  was  her  god- 
mother. In  the  pride  of  her  beauty  she  had  been  mar- 
ried— sold,  it  was  said — to  Lord  Gaunt,  then  at  Paris, 
who  won  vast  sums  from  the  ladv's  brother  at  some  of 
Philip  of  Orlean's  banquets.  The  Earl  of  Gaunt's  fa- 
mous duel  with  the  Count  de  la  Marche,  of  the  Grey 
Musqueteers,  was  attributed  by  common  report  to  the 
pretensions  of  that  officer  (who  had  been  a  page,  and 
remained  a  favourite  of  the  Queen)  to  the  hand  of  the 
beautiful  Lady  Mary  Caerlyon.  She  was  married  to 
Lord  Gaunt  while  the  Count  lay  ill  of  his  wound,  and 
came  to  dwell  at  Gaunt  House,  and  to  figure  for  a  short 
time  in  the  splendid  court  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Fox 
had  toasted  her.  INIorris  and  Sheridan  had  written  songs 
about  her.  Malmesbury  had  made  her  his  best  bow; 
Walpole  had  pronounced  her  charming;  Devonshire 
had  been  almost  jealous  of  her;  but  she  was  scared  by 
the  wild  pleasures  and  gaieties  of  the  society  into  which 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO  5 

she  was  flung,  and  after  she  had  borne  a  couple  of  sons, 
shrank  away  into  a  Hfe  of  devout  seclusion.  No  won- 
der that  my  Lord  Stejaie,  who  liked  pleasure  and  cheer- 
fulness, was  not  often  seen  after  their  marriage,  by  the 
side  of  this  trembling,  silent,  superstitious,  unhappy 
lady. 

The  before-mentioned  Tom  Eaves  (who  has  no  part 
in  this  history,  except  that  he  knew  all  the  great  folks 
in  London,  and  the  stories  and  mysteries  of  each  fam- 
ily,)  had  further  information  regarding  my  Lady 
Steyne,  which  may  or  may  not  be  true.  "  The  humilia- 
tions," Tom  used  to  saj'-,  "  which  that  woman  has  been 
made  to  undergo,  in  her  own  house,  have  been  frightful ; 
Lord  Steyne  has  made  her  sit  down  to  table  with  women 
with  wliom  I  would  rather  die  than  allow  ]Mrs.  Eaves 
to  associate — with  Lady  Crackenbury,  with  INIrs.  Chip- 
penham, with  jMadame  de  la  Cruchecassee,  the  French 
secretary's  wife,"  (from  every  one  of  which  ladies  Tom 
Eaves — who  would  have  sacrificed  his  wife  for  knowing 
them — was  too  glad  to  get  a  bow  or  a  dinner) ,  "  with  the 
reigning  favourite,  in  a  word.  And  do  you  suppose 
that  that  woman,  of  that  family,  who  are  as  proud  as  the 
Bourbons,  and  to  whom  the  Steynes  are  but  lacqueys, 
mushrooms  of  yesterday  (for  after  all,  they  are  not  of 
the  Old  Gaunts,  but  of  a  minor  and  doubtful  branch  of 
the  house)  ;  do  you  suppose,  I  say,"  (the  reader  must 
bear  in  mind  that  it  is  always  Tom  Eaves  who  speaks), 
"  that  the  JMarcIiioness  of  Steyne,  the  haughtiest  woman 
in  England,  would  bend  down  to  her  husband  so  sub- 
missively, if  there  were  not  some  cause?  Pooh!  I  tell 
you  there  are  secret  reasons.  I  tell  you,  tliat  in  the  emi- 
gration, the  Abbe  de  la  Marche  who  was  here  and  was 
employed  in  the  Quiberoon  business  with  Puisaye  and 


6  VANITY   FAIR 

Tinteniac,  was  the  same  Colonel  of  Mousquetaires  Gris 
with  whom  Steyne  fought  in  the  year  '86 — that  he  and 
the  Marchioness  met  again:  that  it  was  after  the  Rev- 
erend Colonel  was  shot  in  Brittany,  that  Lady  Steyne 
took  to  those  extreme  practices  of  devotion  which  she 
carries  on  now;  for  she  is  closeted  with  her  director 
every  day — she  is  at  service  at  Spanish  Place,  every 
morning,  I've  watched  her  there — that  is,  I've  happened 
to  be  passing  there — and  depend  on  it  there's  a  mystery 
in  her  case.  People  are  not  so  unhappy  unless  they  have 
something  to  repent  of,"  added  Tom  Eaves  with  a  know- 
ing wag  of  his  head;  "  and  depend  on  it,  that  woman 
would  not  be  so  submissive  as  she  is,  if  the  Marquis  had 
not  some  sword  to  hold  over  her." 

So,  if  Mr.  Eaves's  information  be  correct,  it  is  very 
likely  that  this  lady,  in  her  high  station,  had  to  submit 
to  many  a  private  indignity,  and  to  hide  many  secret 
griefs  under  a  calm  face.  And  let  us,  my  brethren  who 
have  not  our  names  in  the  Red  Book,  console  ourselves 
by  thinking  comfortably  how  miserable  our  betters  may 
be,  and  that  Damocles,  who  sits  on  satin  cushions,  and 
is  served  on  gold  plate,  has  an  awful  sword  hanging  over 
his  head  in  the  shape  of  a  bailiff,  or  an  hereditary  dis- 
ease, or  a  family  secret,  which  peeps  out  every  now  and 
then  from  the  embroidered  arras  in  a  ghastly  manner, 
and  will  be  sure  to  drop  one  da};^  or  the  other  in  the 
right  place. 

In  comparing,  too,  the  poor  man's  situation  with  that 
of  the  great,  there  is,  (always  according  to  Mr.  Eaves) 
another  source  of  comfort  for  the  former.  You  who 
have  little  or  no  patrimony  to  bequeath  or  to  inherit, 
may  be  on  good  terms  with  your  father  or  your  son, 
whereas  the  heir  of  a  great  prince,  such  as  my  Lord 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO  7 

Steyne,  must  naturally  be  angry  at  being  kept  out  of 
his  kingdom,  and  eye  the  occupant  of  it  with  no  very 
agreeable  glances.  "  Take  it  as  a  rule,"  this  sardonic 
old  Eaves  would  say,  "  the  fathers  and  elder  sons  of  all 
great  families  hate  each  other.  The  Crown  Prince  is 
always  in  opposition  to  the  crown  or  hankering  after  it. 
Shakspeare  knew  the  world,  my  good  sir,  and  when  he 
describes  Prince  Hal  (from  whose  family  the  Gaunts 
pretend  to  be  descended,  though  they  are  no  more  re- 
lated to  John  of  Gaunt  than  you  are,)  trying  on  his 
father's  coronet,  he  gives  you  a  natural  description  of 
all  heirs-apparent.  If  you  were  heir  to  a  dukedom  and 
a  thousand  pounds  a  day,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  would 
not  wish  for  possession  ?  Pooh !  And  it  stands  to  reason 
that  every  great  man,  having  experienced  this  feeling 
towards  his  father,  must  be  aware  that  his  son  entertains 
it  towards  himself;  and  so  they  can't  but  be  suspicious 
and  hostile. 

"  Then  again,  as  to  the  feeling  of  elder  towards 
younger  sons.  JNIy  dear  sir,  you  ought  to  know  that 
every  elder  brother  looks  upon  the  cadets  of  the  house 
as  his  natural  enemies,  who  deprive  him  of  so  much  ready 
money  which  ought  to  be  his  by  right.  I  have  often 
heard  George  ^Nlac  Turk,  Lord  Bajazet's  eldest  son,  say 
that  if  he  had  his  will  when  he  came  to  the  title,  he  would 
do  what  the  sultans  do,  and  clear  the  estate  by  chopping 
oiF  all  his  younger  brothers'  heads  at  once;  and  so  the 
case  is,  more  or  less,  with  them  all.  I  tell  you  they  are 
all  Turks  in  their  hearts.  Pooh!  sir,  they  know  the 
world."  And  here,  hai)ly,  a  great  man  coming  u]),  Tom 
Eaves's  hat  would  drop  off  his  head,  and  he  would  rush 
forward  with  a  bow  and  a  grin,  which  showed  that  he 
knew  the  world  too — in  the  Tomeavesian  wav,  that  is. 


8 


VANITY   FAIR 


And  having  laid  out  every  shilling  of  his  fortune  on  an 
annuity,  Tom  could  afford  to  bear  no  malice  to  his 
nephews  and  nieces,  and  to  have  no  other  feeling  with 


regard  to  his  betters,  but  a  constant  and  generous  desire 
to  dine  with  them. 

Between  the  ]Marchioness  and  the  natural  and  tender 
regard  of  mother  for  children,  there  was  that  cruel  bar- 
rier placed  of  difference  of  faith.  The  very  love  which 
she  might  feel  for  her  sons,  only  served  to  render  the 
timid  and  pious  lady  more  fearful  and  unhappy.     The 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO  9 

gulf  which  separated  them  was  fatal  and  impassa- 
ble. She  could  not  stretch  her  weak  arms  across  it,  or 
draw  her  children  over  to  that  side  away  from  which 
her  belief  told  her  there  was  no  safety.  During  the 
youth  of  his  sons,  Lord  Steyne,  who  was  a  good  scholar 
and  amateur  casuist,  had  no  better  sport  in  the  evening 
after  dinner  in  the  country  than  in  setting  the  boys' 
tutor,  the  Revei*end  ]\Ir.  Trail  (now  my  Lord  Bishop  of 
Ealing,)  on  her  ladyship's  director,  Father  ]Mole,  over 
their  wine,  and  in  pitting  Oxford  against  St.  Acheul. 
He  cried  "  Bravo,  Latimer!  Well  said,  Loyola!  "  alter- 
nately;  he  promised  JNIole  a  bishopric  if  he  would  come 
over;  and  vowed  he  would  use  all  his  influence  to  get 
Trail  a  cardinal's  hat  if  he  would  secede.  Neither  divine 
allowed  himself  to  be  conquered;  and  though  the  fond 
mother  hoped  that  her  youngest  and  favourite  son 
would  be  reconciled  to  her  church — his  mother  church^ 
a  sad  and  awful  disappointment  awaited  the  devout  lady 
—  a  disappointment  which  seemed  to  be  a  judgment  upon 
her  for  the  sin  of  her  marriage. 

My  Lord  Gaunt  married,  as  every  person  who  fre- 
quents the  Peerage  knows,  the  Lady  Blanche  Thistle- 
wood,  a  daughter  of  the  noble  house  of  Bareacres,  be- 
fore mentioned  in  this  veracious  history.  A  wing  of 
Gaunt  House  was  assigned  to  this  couple ;  for  the  head 
of  the  family  chose  to  govern  it,  and  while  he  reigned 
to  reign  supreme :  his  son  and  heir,  however,  living  little 
at  home,  disagreeing  with  his  wife,  and  borrowing  upon 
250st -obits  such  moneys  as  he  required  beyond  the  very 
moderate  sums  which  his  father  was  disposed  to  allow 
him.  The  Marquis  knew  every  shilling  of  his  son's  debts. 
At  his  lamented  demise,  he  was  found  himself  to  be  pos- 
sessor of  many  of  his  heir's  bonds,  purchased  for  tlieir 


10  VANITY   FAIR 

benefit,  and  devised  by  his  Lordship  to  the  children  of 
his  younger  son. 

As,  to  my  Lord  Gaunt's  dismay,  and  the  chuckHng 
dehght  of  his  natural  enemy  and  father,  the  Lady  Gaunt 
had  no  children — the  Lord  George  Gamit  was  desired 
to  return  from  Vienna,  where  he  was  engaged  in  waltz- 
ing and  diplomacy,  and  to  contract  a  matrimonial  alli- 
ance with  the  Honourable  Joan,  only  daughter  of  John 
Johnes,  First  Baron  Helvellyn,  and  head  of  the  firm  of 
Jones,  Brown,  and  Robinson,  of  Threadneedle  Street, 
Bankers;  from  which  union  sprang  several  sons  and 
daughters,  whose  doings  do  not  appertain  to  this 
story. 

The  marriage  at  first  was  a  happy  and  prosperous  one. 
My  Lord  George  Gaunt  could  not  only  read,  but  write 
pretty  correctly.  He  spoke  French  with  considerable 
fluency;  and  was  one  of  the  finest  waltzers  in  Europe. 
With  these  talents,  and  his  interest  at  home,  there  was 
little  doubt  that  his  lordship  would  rise  to  the  highest 
dignities  in  his  profession.  The  lady,  his  wife,  felt  that 
courts  were  her  sphere;  and  her  wealth  enabled  her  to 
receive  splendidly  in  those  continental  towns  whither  her 
husband's  diplomatic  duties  led  him.  There  was  talk 
of  appointing  him  minister,  and  bets  were  laid  at  the 
Travellers'  that  he  would  be  ambassador  ere  long,  when 
of  a  sudden,  rumours  arrived  of  the  secretarv's  extraor- 
dinary  behaviour.  At  a  grand  diplomatic  dinner  given 
by  his  chief,  he  had  started  up,  and  declared  that  a  j^dte 
de  foie  gras  was  poisoned.  He  went  to  a  ball  at  the  hotel 
of  the  Bavarian  envoy,  the  Count  de  Springbock- 
Hohenlaufen,  with  his  head  shaved,  and  dressed  as  a 
Capuchin  friar.  It  was  not  a  masked  ball,  as  some  folks 
wanted  to  persuade  you.    It  was  something  queer,  peo- 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A   HERO  11 

pie  whispered.  His  grandfather  was  so.  It  was  in  the 
fainilv. 

His  wife  and  family  returned  to  this  country,  and 
took  up  their  ahode  at  Gaunt  House.  Lord  George  gaye 
up  his  post  on  the  European  continent,  and  was  ga- 
zetted to  Brazil.  But  people  knew  better;  he  neyer  re- 
turned from  that  Brazil  expedition — neyer  died  there — 
neyer  liyed  there — neyer  was  there  at  all.  He  was  no- 
where: he  was  gone  out  altogether.  "  Brazil,"  said  one 
gossip  to  another,  with  a  grin — "  Brazil  is  St.  John's 
Wood.  Rio  Janeiro  is  a  cottage  surrounded  by  four 
walls ;  and  George  Gaunt  is  accredited  to  a  keeper,  who 
has  inyested  him  with  the  order  of  the  Strait-Waistcoat." 
These  are  the  kinds  of  epitaphs  which  men  pass  oyer  one 
another  in  Vanity  Fair. 

Twice  or  thrice  in  a  week,  in  the  earliest  morning,  the 
poor  mother  went  for  her  sins  and  saw  the  poor  inyalid. 
Sometimes  he  laughed  at  her  ( and  his  laughter  was  more 
pitiful  than  to  hear  him  cry)  ;  sometimes  she  found  the 
brilliant  dandy  diplomatist  of  the  Congress'  of  Vienna 
dragging  about  a  child's  toy,  or  nursing  the  keeper's 
baby's  doll.  Sometimes  he  knew  her  and  Father  INIole, 
her  director  and  companion:  oftener  he  forgot  her,  as 
lie  had  done  wife,  children,  loye,  ambition,  yanity.  But 
he  remembered  his  dinner-hour,  and  used  to  cry  if  his 
wine-and-water  was  not  strong  enough. 

It  was  the  mysterious  taint  of  the  blood:  the  poor 
mother  had  brought  it  from  her  own  ancient  race.  The 
eyil  had  broken  out  once  or  twice  in  the  father's  family, 
long  before  Lady  Steyne's  sins  had  begun,  or  her  fasts 
and  tears  and  penances  had  been  offered  in  their  expi- 
ation. The  pride  of  the  race  was  struck  down  as  the  first- 
born of  Pharaoh.    The  dark  mark  of  fate  and  doom  was 


12 


VANITY   FAIR 


on  the  threshold, — the  tall  old  threshold  surmounted  by 
coronets  and  carved  heraldry. 

The  absent  lord's  children  meanwhile  prattled  and 
grew  on  quite  unconscious  that  the  doom  was  over  them 


too.  First  they  talked  of  their  father,  and  devised  plans 
against  his  return.  Then  the  name  of  the  living  dead 
man  was  less  frequently  in  their  mouth — then  not  men- 
tioned at  all.  But  the  stricken  old  grandmother  trem- 
bled to  think  that  these  too  were  the  inheritors  of  their 


A   XOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO         13 

father's  shame  as  well  as  of  his  honours:  and  watched 
sickening  for  the  day  when  the  awful  ancestral  curse 
should  come  down  on  them. 

This  dark  presentiment  also  haunted  Lord  Steyne. 
He  tried  to  lay  the  horrid  bed-side  ghost  in  Red  Seas 
of  wine  and  jollity,  and  lost  sight  of  it  sometimes  in 
the  crowd  and  rout  of  his  pleasures.  But  it  always 
came  back  to  him  when  alone,  and  seemed  to  grow  more 
threatening  Avith  years.  "  I  have  taken  your  son,"  it 
said,  "  why  not  you?  I  may  shut  you  up  in  a  prison  some 
day  like  your  son  George.  I  may  tap  you  on  the  head  to- 
morrow, and  away  go  pleasure  and  honours,  feasts  and 
beauty,  friends,  flatterers,  French  cooks,  fine  horses  and 
houses — in  exchange  for  a  prison,  a  keeper,  and  a  straw 
mattress  like  George  Gaunt's."  And  then  my  lord 
would  defy  the  ghost  which  threatened  him:  for  he 
knew  of  a  remedy  by  which  he  could  baulk  his  enemy. 

So  there  was  s])lendour  and  wealth,  but  no  great  hap- 
piness percliance,  behind  the  tall  carved  portals  of  Gaunt 
House  with  its  smoky  coronets  and  ciphers.  The  feasts 
there  were  of  the  grandest  in  London,  but  there  was  not 
over-much  content  therewith,  except  among  the  guests 
who  sate  at  my  lord's  table.  Had  he  not  been  so  great 
a  Prince  very  few  possibly  would  have  visited  him :  but 
in  Vanity  Fair  the  sins  of  very  great  personages  are 
looked  at  indulgently.  "  Nous  regardons  a  deuoc  fois  " 
(as  the  French  lady  said)  before  we  condemn  a  person 
of  my  lord's  undoubted  qualit3\  Some  notorious  carp- 
ers and  squeamish  moralists  might  be  sulky  with  Lord 
Steyne,  but  they  were  glad  enough  to  come  when  he 
asked  them. 

"  Lord  Steyne  is  really  too  bad,"  Lady  Slingstone 
said,  "  but  everybody  goes,  and  of  course  I  shall  see  that 


14  VANITY   FAIR 

my  girls  come  to  no  harm."  "  His  lordship  is  a  man  to 
whom  I  owe  much,  everything  in  life,"  said  the  Right 
Reverend  Doctor  Trail,  thinking  that  the  Archbishop 
was  rather  shaky ;  and  Mrs.  Trail  and  the  young  ladies 
would  as  soon  have  missed  going  to  church  as  to  one  of 
his  lordship's  parties.  "  His  morals  are  bad,"  said  little 
Lord  Southdown  to  his  sister,  who  meekly  expostulated, 
having  heard  terrific  legends  from  her  mamma  with  re- 
spect to  the  doings  at  Gaunt  House;  "  but  hang  it,  he's 
got  the  best  dry  Sillery  in  Europe!"  And  as  for  Sir 
Pitt  Crawley,  Bart. — Sir  Pitt  that  pattern  of  decorum, 
Sir  Pitt  who  had  led  oif  at  missionary  meetings,— he 
never  for  one  moment  thought  of  not  going  too.  "  Where 
j'^ou  see  such  persons  as  the  Bishop  of  Ealing  and  the 
Countess  of  Slingstone,  you  may  be  pretty  sure,  Jane," 
the  Baronet  would  say,  "  that  we  cannot  be  wrong.  The 
great  rank  and  station  of  Lord  Steyne  put  him  in  a 
position  to  command  people  in  our  station  in  life.  The 
Lord  Lieutenant  of  a  County,  my  dear,  is  a  respectable 
man.  Besides,  George  Gaunt  and  I  were  intimate  in 
early  life:  he  was  my  junior  when  we  were  attaches  at 
Pumpernickel  together."  ^ 

In  a  word  everybody  went  to  wait  upon  this  great  man 
— everybody  who  was  asked:  as  you  the  reader  (do  not 
say  nay)  or  I  the  writer  hereof  would  go  if  we  had  an 
invitation. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 


IX  WHICH  THE  READER   IS  INTRODUCED  TO  THE  VERY 

BEST  OF   COMPANY 

last  Becky's  kindness  and  at- 
tention to  the  chief  of  her  hus- 
l)and's  family,  were  destined 
to  meet  with  an  exceeding 
great  reward ;  a  reward  which, 
tlioiigh  certainly  somewhat 
unsubstantial,  the  little  woman 
coveted  with  greater  eagerness 
tlian  more  positive  benefits.  If 
she  did  not  wish  to  lead  a  vir- 
tuous life,  at  least  she  desired 
to  enjoy  a  character  for  vir- 
tue, and  we  know  that  no  lady 
in  the  genteel  world  can  pos- 
sess this  desideratum,  until  she 
has  put  on  a  train  and  fea- 
thers, and  has  been  presented 
to  her  Sovereign  at  Court.  From  that  august  interview 
they  come  out  stamped  as  honest  women.  The  Lord 
Chamberlain  gives  them  a  certificate  of  virtue.  And  as 
dubious  goods  or  letters  are  passed  through  an  oven  at 
quarantine,  sprinkled  with  aromatic  vinegar,  and  then 
pronounced  clean— many  a  lady  whose  reputation  would 
l>e  doubtful  otherwise  and  liable  to  give  infection,  passes 

15 


16  VANITY  FAIR 

through  the  wholesome  ordeal  of  the  Royal  presence, 
and  issues  from  it  free  from  all  taint. 

It  might  be  very  well  for  my  Lady  Bareacres,  my 
Lady  Tufto,  Mrs.  Bute  Crawley  in  the  country,  and 
other  ladies  who  had  come  into  contact  with  Mrs.  Raw- 
don  Crawley,  to  cry  fie  at  the  idea  of  the  odious  little 
adventuress  making  her  curtsey  before  the  Sovereign, 
and  to  declare,  that  if  dear  good  Queen  Charlotte  had 
been  alive,  she  never  would  have  admitted  such  an  ex- 
tremely ill-regulated  personage  into  Her  chaste  draw- 
ing-room. But  when  we  consider,  that  it  was  the  First 
Gentleman  in  Europe  in  whose  high  presence  Mrs.  Raw- 
don  passed  her  examination,  and  as  it  were,  took  her  de- 
gree in  reputation,  it  surely  must  be  flat  disloyalty  to 
doubt  any  more  about  her  virtue.  I,  for  my  part,  look 
back  with  love  and  awe  to  that  Great  Character  in  his- 
tory. Ah,  what  a  high  and  noble  appreciation  of  Gen- 
tlewomanhood  there  must  have  been  in  Vanity  Fair, 
when  that  revered  and  august  being  was  invested,  by  the 
universal  acclaim  of  the  refined  and  educated  portion  of 
this  empire,  with  the  title  of  Premier  Gentilhomme  of 

his  Kingdom.  Do  you  remember,  dear  M ,  oh  friend 

of  my  youth,  how  one  blissful  night  five-and-twenty 
years  since,  the  "  Hypocrite  "  being  acted,  Elliston  being 
manager,  Dowton  and  Liston  performers,  two  boys  had 
leave  from  their  loyal  masters  to  go  out  from  Slaughter 
House  School  where  they  were  educated,  and  to  appear 
on  Drurv  Lane  stas^e,  amongst  a  crowd  which  assembled 
there  to  greet  the  king.  THE  KING?  There  he  was. 
Beef -eaters  were  before  the  august  box:  the  ^larquis 
of  Steyne  (Lord  of  the  Powder  Closet)  and  other  great 
officers  of  state  were  behind  the  chair  on  which  he  sate. 
He  sate— florid  of  face,  portly  of  person,  covered  with 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO  17 

orders,  and  in  a  rich  curling  head  of  hair — How  we  sang 
God  save  him !  How  the  house  rocked  and  shouted  with 
that  magnificent  music.  How  they  cheered,  and  cried 
and  waved  handkerchiefs.  Ladies  wept :  mothers  clasped 
their  children :  some  fainted  with  emotion.  People  were 
suffocated  in  the  pit,  shrieks  and  groans  rising  up  amidst 
the  writhing  and  shouting  mass  there  of  his  people  who 
were,  and  indeed  showed  themselves  almost  to  be,  ready 
to  die  for  him.  Yes,  we  saw  him.  Fate  cannot  deprive 
us  of  that.  Others  have  seen  Napoleon.  Some  few  still 
exist  who  have  beheld  Frederick  the  Great,  Doctor  John- 
son, ^Nlarie  Antoinette,  &c. — be  it  our  reasonable  boast 
to  our  children,  that  we  saw  George  the  Good,  the  Mag- 
nificent, the  Great. 

Well,  there  came  a  happy  day  in  jMrs.  Rawdon  Craw- 
lev's  existence  when  this  an^el  was  admitted  into  the 
paradise  of  a  Court  which  she  coveted ;  her  sister-in-law 
acting  as  her  god-mother.  On  the  appointed  day.  Sir 
Pitt  and  his  lady,  in  their  great  family  carriage  (just 
newly  built,  and  ready  for  the  Baronet's  assumption  of 
the  office  of  High  Sheriff  of  his  county),  drove  up  to 
the  little  house  in  Curzon  Street,  to  the  edification  of 
Raggles,  who  was  watching  from  his  greengrocer's  shop, 
and  saw  fine  plumes  within,  and  enormous  bunches  of 
fiowers  in  the  breasts  of  the  new  livery-coats  of  the  foot- 
men. 

Sir  Pitt,  in  a  glittering  uniform,  descended  and  went 
into  Curzon  Street,  his  sword  between  his  legs.  Little 
Rawdon  stood  with  his  face  against  the  j^arlour  window- 
panes,  smiling  and  nodding  with  all  his  might  to  his 
aunt  in  the  carriage  within;  and  presentlj'-  Sir  Pitt  is- 
sued forth  from  the  house  again,  leading  fortli  a  lady 
with  grand  feathers,  covered  in  a  white  shawl,  and  liold- 

VOL.  III. 


18  VANITY  FAIR 

ing  up  daintily  a  train  of  magnificent  brocade.  She 
stepped  into  the  vehicle  as  if  she  were  a  princess  and  ac- 
customed all  her  life  to  go  to  Court,  smiling  graciously 
on  the  footman  at  the  door,  and  on  Sir  Pitt,  who  followed 
her  into  the  carriage. 

Then  Rawdon  followed  in  his  old  Guards'  uniform, 
which  had  grown  wofully  shabby,  and  was  much  too 
tight.  He  was  to  have  followed  the  procession,  and 
waited  upon  his  sovereign  in  a  cab;  but  that  his  good- 
natured  sister-in-law  insisted  that  they  should  be  a  fam- 
ily party.  The  coach  was  large,  the  ladies  not  very  big, 
they  would  hold  their  trains  in  their  laps — finally,  the 
four  went  fraternally  together ;  and  their  carriage  pres- 
ently joined  the  line  of  loyal  equipages  which  was  mak- 
ing its  way  down  Piccadilly  and  St.  James's  Street, 
towards  the  old  brick  palace  where  the  Star  of  Bruns- 
wick was  in  waiting  to  receive  his  nobles  and  gentlefolks. 

Becky  felt  as  if  she  could  bless  the  people  out  of  the 
carriage  windows,  so  elated  was  she  in  spirit,  and  so 
strong  a  sense  had  she  of  the  dignified  position  which  she 
had  at  last  attained  in  life.  Even  our  Becky  had  her 
weaknesses,  and  as  one  often  sees  how  men  pride  them- 
selves upon  excellences  which  others  are  slow  to  perceive : 
how,  for  instance,  Comus  firmly  believes  that  he  is  the 
greatest  tragic  actor  in  England;  how  Brown,  the  fa- 
mous novelist,  longs  to  be  considered,  not  a  man  of  ge- 
nius, but  a  man  of  fashion;  while  Robinson,  the  great 
lawyer,  does  not  in  the  least  care  about  his  reputation 
in  Westminster  Hall,  but  believes  himself  incomparable 
across  country,  and  at  a  five-barred  gate— so  to  be,  and 
to  be  thought,  a  respectable  woman  was  Becky's  aim  in 
life,  and  she  got  up  the  genteel  with  amazing  assiduity, 
readiness,  and  success.    We  have  said,  there  were  times 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO  19 

when  she  believed  herself  to  be  a  fine  lady,  and  forgot 
that  there  was  no  money  in  the  chest  at  home — duns 
round  the  gate,  tradesmen  to  coax  and  wheedle — no 
ground  to  walk  upon,  in  a  word.  And  as  she  went  to 
court  in  the  carriage,  the  family  carriage,  she  adopted  a 
demeanour  so  grand,  self-satisfied,  deliberate,  and  im- 
posing, that  it  made  even  Lady  Jane  laugh.  She  walked 
into  the  royal  apartments  with  a  toss  of  the  head  which 
would  have  befitted  an  empress,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
had  she  been  one,  she  would  have  become  the  character 
perfectly. 

We  are  authorised  to  state  that  IMrs.  Rawdon  Craw- 
ley's costume  de  cour  on  the  occasion  of  her  presentation 
to  the  Sovereign  was  of  the  most  elegant  and  brilliant 
description.  Some  ladies  we  may  have  seen — we  who 
wear  stars  and  cordons,  and  attend  the  St.  James's  as- 
semblies, or  we,  who,  in  muddy  boots,  dawdle  up  and 
down  Pall  Mall,  and  peep  into  the  coaches  as  they  drive 
up  with  the  great  folks  in  their  feathers — some  ladies  of 
fashion,  I  say,  we  may  have  seen,  about  two  o'clock  of 
the  forenoon  of  a  levee  day,  as  the  laced -jacketed  band 
of  the  Life  Guards  are  blowing  triumphal  marches 
seated  on  those  prancing  music-stools,  their  cream- 
coloured  chargers — who  are  by  no  means  lovely  and 
enticing  objects  at  that  early  period  of  noon.  A  stout 
countess  of  sixty,  decolletcc,  painted,  wrinkled,  with 
rouge  up  to  her  drooping  eyelids,  and  diamonds  twink- 
ling in  her  wig,  is  a  wholesome  and  edifying,  but  not  a 
pleasant  sight.  She  has  the  faded  look  of  a  St.  James's 
Street  illumination,  as  it  may  be  seen  of  an  early  morn- 
ing, when  half  the  lamps  are  out,  and  the  others  are  blink- 
ing wanly,  as  if  tliey  were  about  to  vanish  like  ghosts 
before  the  dawn.  Such  cliarms  as  those  of  which  we  catch 


20  VANITY   FAIR 

glimpses  while  her  ladyship's  carriage  passes,  should  ap- 
pear abroad  at  night  alone.  If  even  Cynthia  looks  hag- 
gard of  an  afternoon,  as  we  may  see  her  sometimes  in 
the  present  winter  season,  with  Phcebus  staring  her  out  of 
countenance  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  heavens,  how 
much  more  can  old  Lady  Castlemouldy  keep  her  head 
up  when  the  sun  is  shining  full  upon  it  through  the 
chariot  windows,  and  showing  all  the  chinks  and  cran- 
nies with  which  time  has  marked  her  face?  No.  Draw- 
ing-rooms should  be  announced  for  November,  or  the 
first  foggy  day:  or  the  elderly  sultanas  of  our  Vanity 
Fair  should  drive  up  in  closed  litters,  descend  in  a  cov- 
ered way,  and  make  their  curtsey  to  the  Sovereign  under 
the  protection  of  lamplight. 

Our  beloved  Rebecca  had  no  need,  however,  of  any 
such  a  friendly  halo  to  set  off  her  beauty.  Her  com- 
plexion could  bear  any  sunshine  as  yet;  and  her  dress, 
though  if  you  were  to  see  it  now,  any  present  lady  of 
Vanity  Fair  would  pronounce  it  to  be  the  most  foolish 
and  preposterous  attire  ever  woiH,  was  as  handsome  in 
her  eyes  and  those  of  the  public,  some  five-and-twenty 
years  since,  as  the  most  brilliant  costume  of  the  most  fa- 
mous beauty  of  the  present  season.  A  score  of  years 
hence  that  too,  that  milliner's  wonder,  will  have  passed 
into  the  domain  of  the  absurd,  along  with  all  previous 
vanities.  But  we  are  wandering  too  much.  Mrs.  Raw- 
don's  dress  was  pronounced  to  be  charmante  on  the  event- 
ful day  of  her  presentation.  Even  good  little  Lady 
Jane  was  forced  to  acknowledge  this  effect,  as  she 
looked  at  her  kinswoman;  and  owned  sorrowfully  to 
herself  that  she  was  quite  inferior  in  taste  to  Mrs. 
Becky. 

She  did  not  know  how  much  care,  thought,  and  genius 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO  21 

oSIrs.  Rawdon  had  bestowed  upon  that  garment.  Re- 
becca had  as  good  taste  as  any  milKner  in  Europe,  and 
such  a  clever  way  of  doing  things  as  Lady  Jane  Httle 
understood.  The  latter  quickly  spied  out  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  brocade  of  Becky's  train,  and  the  splendour 
of  the  lace  on  her  dress. 

The  brocade  was  an  old  remnant,  Becky  said ;  and  as 
for  the  lace,  it  was  a  great  bargain.  She  had  had  it  these 
hundred  years. 

"  JNly  dear  JNIrs.  Crawley,  it  must  have  cost  a  little 
fortune,"  Lady  Jane  said,  looking  down  at  her  own  lace, 
which  was  not  nearly  so  good ;  and  then  examining  the 
quality  of  the  ancient  brocade  which  formed  the  material 
of  JNIrs.  Rawdon's  Court  dress,  she  felt  inclined  to  say 
that  she  could  not  afford  such  fine  clothing,  but  checked 
that  speech,  with  an  effort,  as  one  uncharitable  to  her 
kinswoman. 

And  yet,  if  Lady  Jane  had  known  all,  I  think  even 
her  kindly  temper  would  have  failed  her.  The  fact  is, 
when  she  was  putting  Sir  Pitt's  house  in  order,  JNIrs. 
Rawdon  had  found  the  lace  and  the  brocade  in  old  ward- 
robes, the  property  of  the  former  ladies  of  the  house, 
and  had  quietly  carried  the  goods  home,  and  had  suited 
them  to  her  own  little  person.  Briggs  saw  her  take  them, 
asked  no  questions,  told  no  stories;  but  I  believe  (piite 
sympathised  with  her  on  this  matter,  and  so  would  many 
another  honest  woman. 

And  the  diamonds — "  Where  tlie  doose  did  you  get 
the  diamonds,  Becky?  "  said  her  husband,  admiring  some 
jewels  which  he  had  never  seen  before,  and  whicli 
sparkled  in  her  ears  and  on  her  neck  with  brilliance  and 
profusion. 

Becky  blushed  a  little,  and  looked  at  him  hard  for  a 


22  VANITY  FAIR 

moment.  Pitt  Crawley  blushed  a  little  too,  and  looked 
out  of  window.  The  fact  is,  he  had  given  her  a  very  small 
portion  of  the  brilliants ;  a  pretty  diamond  clasp,  which 
confined  a  pearl  necklace  which  she  wore ;  and  the  Bar- 
onet had  omitted  to  mention  the  circumstance  to  his 
lady. 

Becky  looked  at  her  husband,  and  then  at  Sir  Pitt, 
with  an  air  of  saucy  triumph — as  much  as  to  say,  "  Shall 
I  betray  you? " 

"  Guess!  "  she  said  to  her  husband.  "  Why,  you  silly 
man,"  she  continued,  "  where  do  you  suppose  I  got 
them?— all  except  the  little  clasp,  which  a  dear  friend 
of  mine  gave  me  long  ago.  I  hired  them,  to  be  sure.  I 
hired  them  at  Mr.  Polonius's,  in  Coventry  Street.  You 
don't  suppose  that  all  the  diamonds  which  go  to  Court 
belong  to  the  owners;  like  those  beautiful  stones  which 
Lady  Jane  has,  and  which  are  much  handsomer  than 
any  which  I  have,  I  am  certain." 

"  They  are  family  jewels,"  said  Sir  Pitt,  again  look- 
ing uneasy.  And  in  this  family  conversation  the  car- 
riage rolled  down  the  street,  until  its  cargo  was  finally 
discharged  at  the  gates  of  the  palace  where  the  Sov- 
ereign was  sitting  in  state. 

The  diamonds,  which  had  created  Rawdon's  admira- 
tion, never  went  back  to  Mr.  Polonius,  of  Coventry 
Street,  and  that  gentleman  never  applied  for  their  res- 
toration ;  but  they  retired  into  a  little  private  repository, 
in  an  old  desk,  which  Amelia  Sedley  had  given  her  years 
and  years  ago,  and  in  which  Becky  kept  a  number  of 
useful  and,  perhaps,  valuable  things,  about  which  her 
husband  knew  nothing.  To  know  nothing,  or  little,  is 
in  the  nature  of  some  husbands.  To  hide,  in  the  nature 
of  how  many  women  ?    O  ladies !  how  many  of  you  have 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO  23 

surreptitious  milliners'  bills?  How  many  of  vou  have 
gowns  and  bracelets,  which  you  daren't  show,  or  which 
you  wear  trembling? — trembling,  and  coaxing  with 
smiles  the  husband  by  your  side,  who  does  not  know  the 
new  velvet  gown  from  the  old  one,  or  the  new  bracelet 
from  last  year's,  or  has  any  notion  that  the  ragged- 
looking  yellow  lace  scarf  cost  forty  guineas,  and  that 
jNIadame  Bobinot  is  writing  dunning  letters  every  week 
for  the  money ! 

Thus  Rawdon  knew  nothing  about  the  brilliant  dia- 
mond ear-rings,  or  the  superb  brilliant  ornament  which 
decorated  the  fair  bosom  of  his  lady ;  but  Lord  Steyne, 
who  was  in  his  place  at  court,  as  Lord  of  the  Powder 
Closet,  and  one  of  the  great  dignitaries  and  illustrious 
defences  of  the  throne  of  England,  and  came  up  with 
all  his  stars,  garters,  collars,  and  cordons,  and  paid  par- 
ticular attention  to  the  little  woman,  knew  whence  the 
jew^els  came,  and  who  paid  for  them. 

As  he  bowed  over  her  he  smiled,  and  quoted  the  hack- 
neyed and  beautiful  lines,  from  the  "  Rape  of  the 
Lock,"  about  Belinda's  diamonds,  "  which  Jews  miglit 
kiss  and  infidels  adore." 

"  But  I  hope  your  lordship  is  orthodox,"  said  the  little 
lady,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  And  many  ladies  round 
about  whispered  and  talked,  and  many  gentlemen  nod- 
ded and  whispered,  as  they  saw  what  marked  attention 
the  great  nobleman  w^as  paying  to  the  little  adventuress. 

What  were  the  circumstances  of  the  interview  be- 
tween Rebecca  Crawley,  nee  Sharp,  and  her  Imperial 
]Master,  it  does  not  become  such  a  feeble  and  inexperi- 
enced pen  as  mine  to  attempt  to  relate.  The  dazzled 
eyes  close  before  that  Magnificent  Idea.  I^oyal  respect 
and  decency  tell  even  the  imagination  not  to  look  too 


24  VANITY  FAIR 

keenly  and  audaciously  about  the  sacred  audience- 
chamber,  but  to  back  away  rapidly,  silently,  and  re- 
spectfully, making  profound  bows  out  of  the  August 
Presence. 

This  may  be  said,  that  in  all  London  there  was  no  more 
loyal  heart  than  Becky's  after  this  interview.  The  name 
of  her  king  was  alwaj^s  on  her  lips,  and  he  was  pro- 
claimed by  her  to  be  the  most  charming  of  men.  She  went 
to  Colnaghi's  and  ordered  the  finest  portrait  of  him  that 
art  had  produced,  and  credit  could  supply.  She  chose 
that  famous  one  in  which  the  best  of  monarchs  is  repre- 
sented in  a  frock-coat  with  a  fur  collar,  and  breeches  and 
silk  stockings,  simpering  on  a  sofa  from  under  his  curly 
brown  wig.  She  had  him  painted  in  a  brooch  and  wore 
it — indeed  she  amused  and  somewhat  pestered  her  ac- 
quaintance with  her  perpetual  talk  about  his  urbanity 
and  beauty.  Who  knows?  Perhaps  the  little  woman 
thought  she  might  play  the  part  of  a  Maintenon  or  a 
Pompadour. 

But  the  finest  sport  of  all  after  her  presentation  was 
to  hear  her  talk  virtuously.  She  had  a  few  female  ac- 
quaintances, not,  it  must  be  owned,  of  the  very  highest 
reputation  in  Vanity  Fair.  But  being  made  an  honest 
woman  of,  so  to  speak,  Becky  would  not  consort  any 
longer  with  these  dubious  ones,  and  cut  Lady  Cracken- 
bury  when  the  latter  nodded  to  her  from  her  opera-box ; 
and  gave  Mrs.  Washington  White  the  go-by  in  the 
Ring.  "  One  must,  my  dear,  show  one  is  somebody," 
she  said.  "  One  mustn't  be  seen  with  doubtful  people. 
I  pity  Lady  Crackenbury  from  my  heart;  and  Mrs. 
Washington  White  maj^  be  a  very  good-natured  person. 
You  may  go  and  dine  with  them,  as  you  like  your  rub- 
ber.   But  I  mustn't,  and  won't;  and  you  will  have  the 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO  25 

goodness  to  tell  Smith  to  sa}^  I  am  not  at  home  when 
either  of  them  calls." 

The  particulars  of  Becky's  costume  were  in  the  news- 
papers—feathers, lappets,  superb  diamonds,  and  all  the 
I'est.  Lady  Crackenbury  read  the  paragraph  in  bitter- 
ness of  spirit,  and  discoursed  to  her  followers  about  the 
airs  which  that  woman  was  giving  herself.  ]Mrs.  Bute 
Crawley  and  her  j'oung  ladies  in  the  country  had  a  copy 
of  the  Morning  Post  from  town;  and  gave  a  vent  to 
their  honest  indignation.  "If  you  had  been  sandy- 
haired,  green-ej^ed,  and  a  French  rope-dancer's  daugh- 
ter," JNIrs.  Bute  said  to  her  eldest  girl  (who,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  a  very  swarthy,  short,  and  snub-nosed  j^oung 
lady),  "  you  might  have  had  superb  diamonds  forsooth, 
and  have  been  presented  at  Court,  by  your  cousin,  the 
Lady  Jane.  But  you're  only  a  gentlewoman,  my  poor 
dear  child.  You  have  only  some  of  the  best  blood  in 
England  in  your  veins,  and  good  principles  and  piety 
for  your  portion.  I,  myself,  the  wife  of  a  Baronet's 
younger  brother,  too,  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  as 
going  to  Court — nor  would  other  people,  if  good  Queen 
Charlotte  had  been  alive."  In  this  way  the  worthy  Rec- 
toress  consoled  herself:  and  her  daughters  sighed,  and 
sate  over  the  Peerage  all  night. 

A  few  days  after  the  famous  presentation,  another 
great  and  exceeding  honour  was  vouchsafed  to  the  vir- 
tuous Becky.  Lady  Steyne's  carriage  drove  up  to  Mr. 
Rawdon  Crawley's  door,  and  the  footman,  instead  of 
driving  down  the  front  of  the  house,  as  by  his  tremen- 
dous knocking  he  appeared  to  ])e  inclined  to  do,  relented, 
and  only  delivered  in  a  couple  of  cards,  on  which  were 
engraven  the  names  of  the  Marchioness  of  Steyne  and 


26 


VANITY  FAIR 


the  Countess  of  Gaunt.  If  these  bits  of  pasteboard  had 
been  beautiful  pictures,  or  had  had  a  hundred  yards  of 
Mahnes  lace  rolled  round  them,  worth  twice  the  number 
of  guineas,  Becky  could  not  have  regarded  them  with 
more  pleasure.    You  may  be  sure  they  occupied  a  con- 


spicuous place  in  the  china  bowl  on  the  drawing-room 
table,  where  Becky  kept  the  cards  of  her  visitors.  Lord ! 
lord!  how  poor  Mrs.  Washington  White's  card  and 
Lady  Crackenbury's  card,  which  our  little  friend  had 
been  glad  enough  to  get  a  few  months  back,  and  of  which 
the  silly  little  creature  was  rather  proud  once — Lord! 
lord !  I  say,  how  soon  at  the  appearance  of  these  grand 
court  cards,  did  those  poor  little  neglected  deuces  sink 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO  27 

down  to  the  bottom  of  the  pack.  Steyne!  Bareacres, 
Johnes  of  Helvellvii!  and  Caerlvon  of  Camelot!  we 
may  be  sure  that  Becky  and  Briggs  looked  out  those 
august  names  in  the  Peerage,  and  followed  the  noble 
races  up  through  all  the  ramifications  of  the  family 
tree. 

^ly  Lord  Steyne  coming  to  call  a  couple  of  hours 
afterwards,  and  looking  about  him,  and  observing  every- 
thing as  was  his  wont,  found  his  ladies'  cards  already 
ranged  as  the  tnimi^s  of  Becky's  hand,  and  grinned,  as 
this  old  cynic  always  did  at  any  naive  display  of  human 
weakness.  Becky  came  down  to  him  presently:  when- 
ever the  dear  girl  expected  his  lordship,  her  toilette  was 
prepared,  her  hair  in  perfect  order,  her  mouchoirs, 
aprons,  scarfs,  little  morocco  slippers,  and  other  female 
gimcracks  arranged,  and  she  seated  in  some  artless  and 
agreeable  posture  ready  to  receive  him— whenever  she 
was  surprised,  of  course  she  had  to  fly  to  her  apartment 
to  take  a  rapid  survey  of  matters  in  the  glass,  and  to 
trip  down  again  to  wait  upon  the  great  peer. 

She  found  him  grinning  over  the  bowl.  She  was  dis- 
covered, and  she  blushed  a  little.  "  Thank  you,  Mon- 
seiffneur,"  she  said.  "  You  see  your  ladies  have  been 
here.  How  good  of  you!  I  couldn't  come  before— I 
was  in  the  kitchen  making  a  pudding." 

"  I  know  you  were,  I  saw  you  through  the  area-rail- 
ings as  I  drove  u]),"  replied  the  old  gentleman. 

"  You  see  everything,"  she  replied. 

"  A  few  things,  but  not  that,  my  pretty  lady,"  he  said 
good-naturedly.  "  You  silly  little  fibster!  I  heard  you 
in  the  room  overhead,  where  I  have  no  doubt  you  were 
putting  a  little  rouge  on;  you  must  give  some  of  yours 
to  mv  Ladv  Gaunt,  whose  complexion  is  quite  prepos- 


28  VANITY  FAIR 

terous;  and  I  heard  the  bed-room  door  open,  and  then 
you  came  down  stairs." 

"  Is  it  a  crime  to  try  and  look  my  best  when  you  come 
here? "  answered  Mrs.  Rawdon  plaintively,  and  she 
rubbed  her  cheek  with  her  handkerchief  as  if  to  show 
there  was  no  rouge  at  all,  only  genuine  blushes  and 
modesty  in  her  case.  About  this  who  can  tell?  I  know 
there  is  some  rouge  that  won't  come  off  on  a  pocket- 
handkerchief;  and  some  so  good  that  even  tears  will 
not  disturb  it. 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  twiddling  round  his 
wife's  card,  "  you  are  bent  on  becoming  a  fine  lady.  You 
pester  my  poor  old  life  out  to  get  you  into  the  world. 
You  won't  be  able  to  hold  your  own  there,  you  silly  little 
fool.    You've  got  no  money." 

"  You  will  get  us  a  place,"  interposed  Becky,  as  quick 
as  possible. 

"  You've  got  no  money,  and  you  want  to  compete 
with  those  who  have.  You  poor  little  earthernware  pip- 
kin, you  want  to  swim  down  the  stream  along  with  the 
great  copper  kettles.  All  women  are  alike.  EfVerybody 
is  striving  for  what  is  not  worth  the  having!  Gad!  I 
dined  with  the  King  yesterday,  and  we  had  neck  of  mut- 
ton and  turnips.  A  dinner  of  herbs  is  better  than  a 
stalled  ox  very  often.  You  will  go  to  Gaunt  House. 
You  give  an  old  fellow  no  rest  until  you  get  there.  It's 
not  half  so  nice  as  here.  You'll  be  bored  there.  I  am. 
My  wife  is  as  gay  as  Lady  Macbeth,  and  my  daughters 
as  cheerful  as  Regan  and  Goneril.  I  daren't  sleep  in 
what  they  call  my  bed-room.  The  bed  is  like  the  balda- 
quin of  St.  Peter's,  and  the  pictures  frighten  me.  I  have 
a  little  brass  bed  in  a  dressing-room:  and  a  little  hair 
mattress  like  an  anchorite.    I  am  an  anchorite.    Ho !  ho ! 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO  29 

You'll  be  asked  to  dinner  next  week.  And  gare  aux 
femmes,  look  out  and  hold  your  own!  How  the  women 
will  bully  you !  "  This  was  a  very  long  speech  for  a  man 
of  few  words  like  mv  Lord  Stevne ;  nor  was  it  the  first 
which  he  uttered  for  Becky's  benefit  on  that  day. 

Briggs  looked  up  from  the  work-table  at  which  she 
was  seated  in  the  farther  room,  and  gave  a  deep  sigh  as 
she  heard  the  great  ]Marquis  speak  so  lightly  of  her  sex. 

"  If  you  don't  turn  off  that  abominable  sheep-dog," 
said  Lord  Steyne,  with  a  savage  look  over  his  shoulder 
at  her,  "  I  will  have  her  poisoned." 

"  I  always  give  my  dog  dinner  from  my  own  plate," 
said  Rebecca,  laughing  mischievously;  and  having  en- 
joyed for  some  time  the  discomfiture  of  my  lord,  who 
hated  poor  Briggs  for  interrupting  his  tete-a-tete  with 
the  fair  Colonel's  wife,  Mrs.  Rawdon  at  length  had  pity 
upon  her  admirer,  and  calling  to  Briggs,  praised  the 
fineness  of  the  weather  to  her,  and  bade  her  to  take  out 
the  child  for  a  walk. 

"  I  can't  send  her  away,"  Becky  said  presently,  after 
a  pause,  and  in  a  very  sad  voice.  Her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  as  she  spoke,  and  she  turned  away  her  head. 

"  You  owe  her  her  wages,  I  suppose?  "  said  the  Peer. 

"  Worse  than  that,"  said  Becky,  still  casting  down  her 
eyes,  "  I  have  ruined  her." 

"  Ruined  her? — then  why  don't  you  turn  her  out?  " 
the  gentleman  asked. 

"  jNIen  do  that,"  Becky  answered  bitterly.  "  Women 
are  not  so  bad  as  you.  Last  year  when  we  were  reduced 
to  our  last  guinea,  she  gave  us  everything.  She  shall 
never  leave  me,  until  we  are  ruined  utterly  ourselves, 
which  does  not  seem  far  ofF,  or  until  I  can  pay  lier  the 
utmost  farthing." 


30  VANITY  FAIR 

" it,  how  much  is  it?  "  said  the  Peer,  with  an  oath. 


And  Becky,  reflecting  on  the  largeness  of  his  means, 
mentioned  not  only  the  sum  which  she  had  borrowed 
from  Miss  Briggs,  but  one  of  nearly  double  the 
amount. 

This  caused  the  Lord  Steyne  to  break  out  in  another 
brief  and  energetic  expression  of  anger,  at  which  Re- 
becca held  down  her  head  the  more,  and  cried  bitterly. 
"  I  could  not  help  it.  It  was  my  only  chance.  I  dare 
not  tell  my  husband.  He  would  kill  me  if  I  told  him 
what  I  have  done.  I  have  kept  it  a  secret  from  every- 
body but  3^ou — and  you  forced  it  from  me.  All,  what 
shall  I  do.  Lord  Steyne?  for  I  am  very,  very  unliappy!  " 

Lord  Steyne  made  no  reply  except  by  beating  the 
devil's  tattoo,  and  biting  his  nails.  At  last  he  clapped 
his  hat  on  his  head,  and  flung  out  of  the  room.  Rebecca 
did  not  rise  from  her  attitude  of  misery  until  the  door 
slammed  upon  him,  and  his  carriage  whirled  away. 
Then  she  rose  up  with  the  queerest  expression  of  vic- 
torious mischief  glittering  in  her  green  ej^es.  She 
burst  out  laughing  once  or  twice  to  herself,  as  she  sate 
at  work:  and  sitting  down  to  the  piano,  she  rattled 
away  a  triumphant  voluntary  on  the  keys,  which 
made  the  people  pause  under  her  window  to  listen  to 
her  brilliant  music. 

That  night,  there  came  two  notes  from  Gaunt  House 
for  the  little  woman,  the  one  containing  a  card  of  invi- 
tation from  Lord  and  Lady  Steyne  to  a  dinner  at  Gaunt 
House  next  Friday:  while  the  other  enclosed  a  slip  of 
gray  paper  bearing  Lord  Steyne's  signature  and  the 
address  of  Messrs.  Jones,  Brown,  and  Robinson,  Lom- 
bard Street. 

Rawdon  heard  Becky  laughing  in  the  night  once  or 


J     'J    [J 

i 

! 
( 

*>; 

1 

,„;.■,*•';■  --- ) 


M^^Mtlt 


£ecky  in  Lombard  Street 


I 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO        31 

twice.  It  was  only  her  delight  at  going  to  Gaunt  House 
and  facing  the  ladies  there,  she  said,  which  amused  her 
so.  But  the  truth  was,  that  she  was  occupied  with  a 
great  number  of  other  thoughts.  Should  she  pay  off  old 
Briggs  and  give  her  her  conge?  Should  she  astonish 
Raggles  by  settling  his  account?  She  turned  over  all 
these  thoughts  on  her  pillow,  and  on  the  next  day,  w^hen 
Rawdon  went  out  to  pay  his  morning  visit  to  the  Club, 
]\Irs.  Crawley  (in  a  modest  dress  with  a  veil  on)  whipped 
off  in  a  hackney-coach  to  the  City :  and  being  landed  at 
^Messrs.  Jones  and  Robinson's  bank,  presented  a  docu- 
ment there  to  the  authority  at  the  desk,  w^ho,  in  reply, 
asked  her  "  How  she  would  take  it?  " 

She  gently  said  "  she  w^ould  take  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  in  small  notes  and  the  remainder  in  one  note:  " 
and  passing  through  St.  Paul's  Churchyard  stopped 
there  and  bought  the  handsomest  black  silk  gown  for 
Briggs  which  money  could  buy;  and  which,  with  a  kiss 
and  the  kindest  speeches,  she  presented  to  the  simple  old 
spinster. 

Then  she  walked  to  Mr.  Raggles,  inquired  about  his 
children  affectionately,  and  gave  him  fifty  pounds  on 
account.  Then  she  went  to  the  livery-man  from  whom 
she  jobbed  her  carriages  and  gratified  him  with  a  similar 
sum.  "  And  I  hope  this  will  be  a  lesson  to  you.  Spavin," 
she  said,  "  and  that  on  the  next  Drawing-room  day  my 
brother.  Sir  Pitt,  will  not  be  inconvenienced  by  being 
obliged  to  take  four  of  us  in  his  carriage  to  wait  upon 
His  Majesty,  because  my  own  carriage  is  not  forthcom- 
ing." It  appears  there  had  been  a  difference  on  the  last 
Drawing-room  day.  Hence  the  degradation  which  the 
Colonel  had  almost  suffered,  of  Ix^'ing  o})liged  to  enter 
the  presence  of  his  Sovereign  in  a  hack  cab. 

VOL.  111. 


32  VANITY  FAIR 

These  arrangements  concluded,  Becky  paid  a  visit 
up  stairs  to  the  before-mentioned  desk,  which  Ameha 
Sedley  had  given  her  years  and  years  ago,  and  which 
contained  a  number  of  useful  and  valuable  little  things : 
in  which  private  museum  she  placed  the  one  note  which 
Messrs.  Jones  and  Robinson's  cashier  had  given  her. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 


IX    WHICH    WE   ENJOY    THREE    COUBSES 
AND  A  DESSERT 

!/HEX  the  ladies  of  Gaunt 
House  were  at  breakfast 
that  morning,  Lord  Steyne 
(who  took  his  chocolate  in 
private,  and  seldom  dis- 
turbed the  females  of  his 
household,  or  saw  them  ex- 
cept upon  public  days,  or 
when  they  crossed  each 
other  in  the  hall,  or  when 
from  his  pit-box  at  the 
Opera  he  surveyed  them  in 
their  box  on  the  grand  tier) 
—  His  lordship,  we  say,  ap- 
peared among  the  ladies 
and  the  diildren  who  were  assembled  over  the  tea  and 
toast,  and  a  battle  royal  ensued  apropos  of  Rebecca. 

"  My  Lady  Steyne,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  see  the  list 

for  your  .dinner  on  Friday;  and  I  want  you,  if  you 

please,  to  write  a  card  for  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Crawley." 

"  Blanche  writes  tliem,"  I^ady  Steyne  said  in  a  flutter. 

"  Lady  Gaunt  writes  them." 

"  I  will  not  write  to  that  person,"  Lady  Gaunt  said,  a 
tall  and  stately  lady,  who  looked  up  for  an  instant  and 

33 


34  VANITY  FAIR 

then  down  again  after  she  had  spoken.  It  was  not 
good  to  meet  Lord  Steyne's  eyes  for  those  who  had 
offended  him. 

"  Send  the  children  out  of  the  room.  Go!  "  said  he, 
pulHng  at  the  bell-rope.  The  urchins,  always  fright- 
ened before  him,  retired:  their  mother  would  have  fol- 
lowed too.    "  Not  you,"  he  said.    "  You  stop." 

"  My  Lady  Steyne,"  he  said,  "  once  more  will  you 
have  the  goodness  to  go  to  the  desk,  and  write  that  card 
for  your  dinner  on  Friday?  " 

"  My  Lord,  I  will  not  be  present  at  it,"  Lady  Gaunt 
said;  "  I  will  go  home." 

"  I  wish  you  would,  and  stay  there.  You  will  find 
the  bailiffs  at  Bareacres  very  pleasant  company,  and  I 
shall  be  freed  from  lending  money  to  your  relations,  and 
from  your  own  damned  tragedy  airs.  Who  are  you  to 
give  orders  here?  You  have  no  money.  You've  got  no 
brains.  You  were  here  to  have  children,  and  you  have 
not  had  any.  Gaunt's  tired  of  you;  and  George's  wife 
is  the  only  person  in  the  family  who  doesn't  wish  you 
were  dead.     Gaunt  would  marry  again  if  you  were." 

"  I  wish  I  were,"  her  Ladyship  answered,  with  tears 
and  rage  in  her  eyes. 

"You,  forsooth,  must  give  yourself  airs  of  virtue; 
while  my  wife,  who  is  an  immaculate  saint,  as  every- 
body knows,  and  never  did  wrong  in  her  life,  has  no  ob- 
jection to  meet  my  young  friend  Mrs.  Crawley.  My 
Lady  Steyne  knows  that  appearances  are  sometimes 
against  the  best  of  women ;  that  lies  are  often  told  about 
the  most  innocent  of  them.  Pray,  Madam,  shall  I  tell 
you  some  little  anecdotes  about  my  Lady  Bareacres, 
your  mamma?  " 

"  You  may  strike  me  if  you  like,  sir,  or  hit  any  cruel 


A    XOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO         35 

blow,"  Lady  Gaunt  said.  To  see  his  wife  and  daughter 
suffering  always  put  his  Lordship  into  a  good  humour. 

"  ]My  sweet  Blanche,"  he  said,  "  I  am  a  gentleman, 
and  never  lay  my  hand  upon  a  woman,  save  in  the  way 
of  kindness.  I  only  wish  to  correct  little  faults  in  your 
character.  You  women  are  too  proud,  and  sadly  lack 
humility,  as  Father  jNIole,  I'm  sure,  would  tell  my  Lady 
Steyne  if  he  were  here.  You  mustn't  give  yourselves 
airs:  you  must  be  meek  and  humble,  my  blessings.  For 
all  Lady  Steyne  knows,  this  calumniated,  simple,  good- 
humoured  ]Mrs.  Crawley  is  quite  innocent — even  more 
innocent  than  herself.  Her  husband's  character  is  not 
good,  but  it  is  as  good  as  Bareacres',  who  has  played  a 
little  and  not  paid  a  great  deal,  who  cheated  you  out  of 
the  only  legacy  you  ever  had,  and  left  you  a  pauper  on 
my  hands.  And  Mrs.  Crawley  is  not  very  well  born; 
but  she  is  not  worse  than  Fanny's  illustrious  ancestor, 
the  first  de  la  Jones." 

"  The  money  which  I  brought  into  the  family,  sir," 
Lady  George  cried  out — 

"  You  purchased  a  contingent  reversion  with  it,"  the 
]Marquis  said,  darkly.  "  If  Gaunt  dies,  your  husband 
may  come  to  his  honours;  your  little  boys  may  inherit 
them,  and  who  knows  what  besides?  In  the  meanwhile, 
ladies,  be  as  proud  and  virtuous  as  you  like  abroad,  but 
don't  give  me  any  airs.  As  for  Mrs.  Crawley's  char- 
acter, I  shan't  demean  myself  or  that  most  spotless  and 
perfectly  irreproachable  lady,  by  even  hinting  that  it 
requires  a  defence.  You  will  be  pleased  to  receive  her 
with  the  utmost  cordiality,  as  you  will  receive  all  per- 
sons whom  I  present  in  this  house.  This  house?  "  He 
broke  out  with  a  laugh.  "  Who  is  the  master  of  it?  and 
wliat  is  it?    Tills  Temple  of  Virtue  belongs  to  me.    And 


36  VANITY  FAIR 

if  I  invite  all  Newgate  or  all  Bedlam  here,  by they 

shall  be  welcome." 

After  this  vigorous  allocution,  to  one  of  which  sort 
Lord  Steyne  treated  his  "  Hareem,"  whenever  symp- 
toms of  insubordination  appeared  in  his  household,  the 
crest-fallen  women  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  obey. 
Lady  Gamit  wrote  the  invitation  which  his  Lordship 
required,  and  she  and  her  mother-in-law  drove  in  per- 
son, and  with  bitter  and  humiliated  hearts,  to  leave  the 
cards  on  Mrs.  Rawdon,  the  reception  of  which  caused 
that  innocent  woman  so  much  pleasure. 

There  were  families  in  London  who  would  have  sac- 
rificed a  year's  income  to  receive  such  an  honour  at  the 
hands  of  those  great  ladies.  Mrs.  Frederick  Bullock, 
for  instance,  would  have  gone  on  her  knees  from  May- 
fair  to  Lombard  Street,  if  Lady  Steyne  and  Lady 
Gaunt  had  been  waiting  in  the  City  to  raise  her  up,  and 
say,  "  Come  to  us  next  Friday," — not  to  one  of  the 
great  crushes  and  grand  balls  of  Gaunt  House,  whither 
everybody  went,  but  to  the  sacred,  unapproachable, 
mysterious,  delicious  entertainments,  to  be  admitted  to 
one  of  which  was  a  privilege,  and  an  honour,  and  a  bless- 
ing indeed. 

Severe,  spotless,  and  beautiful.  Lady  Gaunt  held  the 
very  highest  rank  in  Vanity  Fair.  The  distinguished 
courtesy  with  which  Lord  Steyne  treated  her,  charmed 
everybody  who  witnessed  his  behaviour,  caused  the  se- 
verest critics  to  admit  how  perfect  a  gentleman  he  was, 
and  to  own  that  his  lordship's  heart  at  least  was  in  the 
right  place. 

The  ladies  of  Gaunt  House  called  Lady  Bareacres  in 
to  their  aid,  in  order  to  repulse  the  common  enemy.    One 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO        37 

of  Lady  Gaunt 's  carriages  went  to  Hill  Street  for  her 
Ladyship's  mother,   all  whose  equipages  were  in  the 
hands  of  the  bailiffs,  whose  very  jewels  and  wardrobe, 
it  was  said,  had  been  seized  by  those  inexorable  Israel- 
ites.   Bareacres  Castle  was  theirs,  too,  with  all  its  costly 
pictui'es,  furniture,  and  articles  of  vertu — the  magnifi- 
cent Vandykes;  the  noble  Reynolds  pictures;  the  Law- 
rence portraits,  tawdry  and  beautiful,  and,  thirty  years 
ago,  deemed  as  precious  as  works  of  real  genius;  the 
matchless  Dancing  Nymph  of  Canova,  for  which  Lady 
Bareacres    had    sate    in    her    youth— Lady    Bareacres 
splendid  then,  and  radiant  in  wealth,  rank,  and  beauty — 
a  toothless,  bald,  old  woman  now — a  mere  rag  of  a 
former  robe  of  state.     Her  lord,  painted  at  the  same 
time  by  Lawrence,  as  waving  his  sabre  in  front  of  Bare- 
acres  Castle,  and  clothed  in  his  uniform  as  Colonel  of 
the  Thistlewood  Yeomanry,  was  a  withered,  old,  lean 
man  in  a  great-coat  and  a  Brutus  wig:  slinking  about 
Gray's  Inn  of  mornings  chiefly,  and  dining  alone  at 
clubs.    He  did  not  like  to  dine  with  Steyne  now.    The\' 
had  run  races  of  pleasure  together  in  youth  when  Bare- 
acres  was  the  winner.     But  Steyne  had  more  bottom 
than  he,  and  had  lasted  him  out.     The  INIarquis  was  ten 
times  a  greater  man  now  than  the  young  Lord  Gaunt 
of  '85;  and  Bareacres  nowhere  in  the  race — old,  beaten, 
bankrupt,   and  broken   down.      He  had  borrowed   too 
much  money  of  Steyne  to  find  it  pleasant  to  meet  his  old 
comrade  often.     The  latter,  whenever  he  wished  to  be 
merry,  used  jeeringly  to  ask  Lady  Gaunt,   why  her 
father  had  not  come  to  see  her?    "He  has  not  been  here 
for  four  months,"  Lord  Steyne  would  say.    "  I  can  al- 
ways tell  by  my  cheque-book  afterwards,  when  I  get  a 
visit  from  Bareacres.    What  a  comfort  it  is,  my  ladies, 


38  VANITY  FAIR 

I  bank  with  one  of  my  sons'  fathers-in-law,  and  the 
other  banks  with  me !  " 

Of  the  other  illustrious  persons  whom  Becky  had  the 
honour  to  encounter  on  this  her  first  presentation  to  the 
grand  world,  it  does  not  become  the  present  historian 
to  say  much.  There  was  his  Excellency  the  Prince  of 
Peterwaradin,  with  his  Princess;  a  nobleman  tightly 
girthed,  with  a  large  military  chest,  on  which  the  plaque 
of  his  order  shone  magnificently,  and  wearing  the  red 
collar  of  the  Golden  Fleece  round  his  neck.  He  was  the 
owner  of  countless  flocks.  "  Look  at  his  face.  I  think 
he  must  be  descended  from  a  sheep,"  Becky  whispered 
to  Lord  Steyne.  Indeed,  his  Excellency's  countenance, 
long,  solemn,  and  white,  with  the  ornament  round  his 
neck,  bore  some  resemblance  to  that  of  a  venerable  bell- 
wether. 

There  was  Mr.  John  Paul  Jeif erson  Jones,  titularly 
attached  to  the  American  Embassy,  and  correspondent 
of  the  New  York  Demagogue;  who,  by  way  of  making 
himself  agreeable  to  the  company,  asked  Lady  Steyne, 
during  a  pause  in  the  conversation  at  dinner,  how  his 
dear  friend,  George  Gaunt,  liked  the  Brazils?— He  and 
George  had  been  most  intimate  at  Naples,  and  had  gone 
up  Vesuvious  together.  Mr.  Jones  wrote  a  full  and  par- 
ticular account  of  the  dinner,  which  appeared  duly  in 
the  Demagogue.  He  mentioned  the  names  and  titles 
of  all  the  guests,  giving  biographical  sketches  of  the 
principal  people.  He  described  the  persons  of  the  ladies 
with  great  eloquence;  the  service  of  the  table;  the  size 
and  costume  of  the  servants ;  enumerated  the  dishes  and 
wines  served;  the  ornaments  of  the  sideboard,  and  the 
probable  value  of  the  plate.  Such  a  dinner  he  calcu- 
lated could  not  be  dished  up  under  fifteen  or  eighteen 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO        39 

dollars  per  head.  And  he  was  in  the  habit,  until  very 
lately,  of  sending  over  proteges,  with  letters  of  recom- 
mendation to  the  present  ^larquis  of  StejTie,  encour- 
aged to  do  so  by  the  intimate  terms  on  which  he  had 
lived  with  his  dear  friend,  the  late  lord.  He  was  most 
indignant  that  a  young  and  insignificant  aristocrat,  the 
Earl  of  Southdown,  should  have  taken  the  pas  of  him 
in  their  procession  to  the  dining-room.  "  Just  as  I  was 
stepping  up  to  offer  my  hand  to  a  very  pleasing  and 
witty  fashionable,  the  brilliant  and  exclusive  Mrs.  Raw- 
don  Crawley," — he  wrote — "  the  young  patrician  inter- 
posed between  me  and  the  lady,  and  whisked  my  Helen 
off  without  a  word  of  apology.  I  was  fain  to  bring  up 
the  rear  with  the  Colonel,  the  lady's  husband,  a  stout 
red-faced  warrior  who  distinguished  himself  at  Water- 
loo, where  he  had  better  luck  than  befell  some  of  his 
brother  red-coats  at  New  Orleans." 

The  Colonel's  countenance  on  coming  into  this  polite 
society  wore  as  many  blushes  as  the  face  of  a  boy  of  six- 
teen assumes  when  he  is  confronted  with  his  sister's 
schoolfellows.  It  has  been  told  before  that  honest  Raw- 
don  had  not  been  much  used  at  any  period  of  his  life  to 
ladies'  company.  With  the  men  at  the  Club  or  tlie 
^less-room,  he  was  well  enough;  and  could  ride,  bet, 
smoke,  or  play  at  billiards  with  the  boldest  of  them.  He 
had  had  his  time  for  female  friendships  too:  but  that 
was  twenty  years  ago,  and  the  ladies  were  of  the  rank 
of  those  with  whom  Young  ^larlow  in  the  comedy  is 
represented  as  having  been  familiar  before  he  became 
abashed  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Hardcastle.  The  times 
are  sucli  that  one  scarcely  dares  to  allude  to  that  kind  of 
company  wliich  thousands  of  our  young  men  in  Vanity 


40  VANITY  FAIR 

Fair  are  frequenting  every  day,  which  nightly  fills  ca- 
sinos and  dancing-rooms,  which  is  known  to  exist  as 
well  as  the  Ring  in  Hyde  Park  or  the  Congregation  at 
St.  James's — but  which  the  most  squeamish  if  not  the 
most  moral  of  societies  is  determined  to  ignore.  In  a 
word,  although  Colonel  Crawley  was  now  five-and-forty 
years  of  age,  it  had  not  been  his  lot  in  life  to  meet  with 
a  half-dozen  good  women,  besides  his  paragon  of  a  wife. 
All  excej)t  her  and  his  kind  sister  Lady  Jane,  whose 
gentle  nature  had  tamed  and  won  him,  scared  the  wor- 
thy Colonel ;  and  on  occasion  of  his  first  dinner  at  Gaunt 
House  he  was  not  heard  to  make  a  single  remark  except 
to  state  that  the  weather  was  very  hot.  Indeed  Beck}^ 
would  have  left  him  at  home,  but  that  virtue  ordained 
that  her  husband  should  be  by  her  side  to  protect  the 
timid  and  fluttering  little  creature  on  her  first  appear- 
ance in  polite  society. 

On  her  first  appearance  Lord  Steyne  stepped  for- 
ward, taking  her  hand,  and  greeting  her  with  great 
courtesy,  and  presenting  her  to  Lady  Steyne,  and  their 
ladyships,  her  daughters.  Their  ladyships  made  three 
stately  curtsies,  and  the  elder  lady  to  be  sure  gave  her 
hand  to  the  new  comer,  but  it  was  as  cold  and  lifeless 
as  marble. 

Becky  took  it,  how^ever,  with  grateful  humility;  and 
performing  a  reverence  which  would  have  done  credit 
to  the  best  dancing  master,  put  herself  at  Lady  Steyne's 
feet,  as  it  were,  by  saying  that  his  Lordship  had  been 
her  father's  earliest  friend  and  patron,  and  that  she, 
Becky,  had  learned  to  honour  and  respect  the  Steyne 
family  from  the  days  of  her  childhood.  The  fact  is,  that 
Lord  Steyne  had  once  purchased  a  couple  of  pictures  of 
the  late  Sharp,  and  the  affectionate  orphan  could  never 
forget  her  gratitude  for  that  favour. 


A  XOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO 


41 


The  Lady  Bareacres  then  came  under  Becky's  cogni- 
zance— to  whom  the  Colonel's  lady  made  also  a  most  re- 
spectful obeisance:  it  was  returned  with  severe  dignity 
by  the  exalted  person  in  question. 

"  I  had  the  pleasure  of  making  your  Ladyship's  ac- 


quaintance at  Brussels,  ten  years  ago,"  Becky  said,  in 
the  most  winning  manner,  ^  "  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
meet  Lady  Bareacres,  at  the  Duchess  of  Richmond's 
ball,  the  night  before  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  And  I 
recollect  your  Ladyship,  and  my  T^^ady  Blanche,  your 
daughter,  sitting  in  the  carriage   in   the   ])()rtc-cochcre 


42  VANITY  FAIR 

at  the  Inn,  waiting  for  horses.  I  hope  your  Ladyship's 
diamonds  are  safe." 

Everybody's  eyes  looked  into  their  neighbour's.  The 
famous  diamonds  had  undergone  a  famous  seizure,  it 
appears,  about  which  Becky,  of  course,  knew  nothing. 
Rawdon  Crawley  retreated  with  Lord  Southdown  into 
a  window,  where  the  latter  was  heard  to  laugh  immod- 
erately, as  Rawdon  told  him  the  story  of  Lady  Bare- 
acres  wanting  horses,  and  "  knuckling  down,  by  Jove," 
to  Mrs.  Crawley.  "  I  think  I  needn't  be  afraid  of  that 
woman,"  Becky  thought.  Indeed,  Lady  Bareacres  ex- 
changed terrified  and  angry  looks  with  her  daughter, 
and  retreated  to  a  table,  where  she  began  to  look  at  pic- 
tures with  great  energy. 

When  the  Potentate  from  the  Danube  made  his  ap- 
pearance, the  conversation  was  carried  on  in  the  French 
language,  and  the  Lady  Bareacres  and  the  younger 
ladies  found,  to  their  farther  mortification,  that  Mrs. 
Crawley  was  much  better  acquainted  with  that  tongue, 
and  spoke  it  with  a  much  better  accent  than  they.  Becky 
had  met  other  Hungarian  magnates  with  the  army  in 
France,  in  1816-17.  She  asked  after  her  friends  with 
great  interest.  The  foreign  personages  thought  that 
she  was  a  lady  of  great  distinction ;  and  the  Prince  and 
the  Princess  asked  severally  of  Lord  Steyne  and  the 
Marchioness,  whom  they  conducted  to  dinner,  who  was 
that  petite  dame  who  spoke  so  well? 

Finally,  the  procession  being  formed  in  the  order  de- 
scribed by  the  American  diplomatist,  they  marched  into 
the  apartment  where  the  banquet  was  served :  and  which, 
as  I  have  promised  the  reader  he  shall  enjoy  it,  he  shall 
have  the  liberty  of  ordering  himself  so  as  to  suit  his 
fancy. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO        43 

But  it  was  when  the  ladies  were  alone  that  Becky 
knew  the  tug  of  war  would  come.  And  then  in- 
deed the  little  woman  found  herself  in  such  a  situa- 
tion, as  made  her  acknowledge  the  correctness  of  Lord 
Steyne's  caution  to  her  to  beware  of  the  society  of 
ladies  above  her  own  sphere.  As  they  say  the  persons 
who  hate  Irishmen  most  are  Irishmen;  so,  assuredly, 
the  greatest  tyrants  over  women  are  women.  When 
poor  little  Becky,  alone  with  the  ladies,  went  up 
to  the  fire-place  whither  the  great  ladies  had  repaired, 
the  great  ladies  marched  away  and  took  possession  of 
a  table  of  drawings.  When  Becky  followed  them 
to  the  table  of  drawings,  they  dropped  off  one  by 
one  to  the  fire  again.  She  tried  to  speak  to  one  of  the 
children  (of  whom  she  was  commonly  fond  in  public 
places),  but  jNIaster  George  Gaunt  was  called  away  by 
his  mamma ;  and  the  stranger  was  treated  with  such  cru- 
elty finally,  that  even  Lady  Steyne  herself  pitied  her, 
and  went  up  to  speak  to  the  friendless  little  woman. 

"  Lord  Steyne,"  said  her  Ladyship,  as  her  wan  cheeks 
glowed  with  a  blush,  "  says  you  sing  and  play  very  beau- 
tifully, Mrs.  Crawley— I  wish  you  would  do  me  the 
kindness  to  sing  to  me." 

"  I  will  do  anything  that  ma}"  give  pleasure  to  my 
Lord  Steyne  or  to  you,"  said  Rebecca,  sincerely  grate- 
ful, and  seating  herself  at  the  piano,  began  to  sing. 

She  sang  religious  songs  of  Mozart,  which  had  been 
early  favourites  of  Lady  Steyne,  and  with  such  sweet- 
ness and  tenderness  that  the  lady,  lingering  round  the 
piano,  sate  down  by  its  side,  and  listened  until  the  tears 
rolled  down  her  eyes.  It  is  true  that  the  opposition 
ladies  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  kept  up  a  loud  and 
ceaseless  buzzing  and  talking:  but  the  Lady  Steyne  did 


44  VANITY  FAIR 

not  hear  those  rumours.  She  was  a  child  again — and 
had  wandered  back  through  a  forty  years'  wilderness 
to  her  Convent  Garden.  The  chapel  organ  had  pealed 
the  same  tones,  the  organist,  the  sister  whom  she  loved 
best  of  the  community,  had  taught  them  to  her  in  those 
early  happy  days.  She  was  a  girl  once  more,  and  the 
brief  period  of  her  happiness  bloomed  out  again  for  an 
hour — she  started  when  the  jarring  doors  were  flung 
open,  and  with  a  loud  laugh  from  Lord  Steyne,  the  men 
of  the  party  entered  full  of  gaiety. 

He  saw  at  a  glance  what  had  happened  in  his  absence : 
and  was  grateful  to  his  wife  for  once.  He  went  and 
spoke  to  her,  and  called  her  by  her  Christian  name,  so  as 
again  to  bring  blushes  to  her  pale  face — "  My  wife  says 
you  have  been  singing  like  an  angel,"  he  said  to  Becky. 
Now  there  are  angels  of  two  kinds,  and  both  sorts,  it  is 
said,  are  charming  in  their  way. 

Whatever  the  previous  portion  of  the  evening  had 
been,  the  rest  of  that  night  was  a  great  triumph  for 
Becky.  She  sang  her  very  best,  and  it  was  so  good  that 
every  one  of  the  men  came  and  crowded  round  the  piano. 
The  women,  her  enemies,  were  left  quite  alone.  And 
Mr.  Paul  Jefferson  Jones  thought  he  had  made  a  con- 
quest of  Lady  Gaunt  by  going  up  to  her  Ladyship,  and 
praising  her  delightful  friend's  first-rate  singing. 


CHAPTER   L 


CONTAINS  A   VULGAR   INCIDENT 


HE  INIuse,  whoever  she 
be,  who  presides  over 
this  Comic  History, 
must  now  descend  from 
the  genteel  heights  in 
which  she  has  been  soar- 
ing, and  have  the  good- 
ness to  drop  down  upon 
the  lowly  roof  of  John 
Sedley  at  Brompton,and 
describe  what  events  are 
taking  place  there.  Here,  too,  in  this  humble  tene- 
ment, live  care,  and  distrust,  and  dismay.  Mrs.  Clapp 
in  the  kitchen  is  grumbling  in  secret  to  her  husband 
about  the  rent,  and  urging  the  good  fellow  to  rebel 
against  his  old  friend  and  patron  and  his  present  lodger. 
Mrs.  Sedley  has  ceased  to  visit  her  landlady  in  the  lower 
regions  now,  and  indeed  is  in  a  position  to  patronise 
^Irs.  Clapp  no  longer.  How  can  one  be  condescending 
to  a  lady  to  whom  one  owes  a  matter  of  forty  pounds, 
and  who  is  perpetually  throwing  out  hints  for  the 
money?  Thu  Irish  maidservant  has  not  altered  in  the 
least  in  her  kind  and  respectful  behaviour;  but  INIrs. 
Sedley  fancies  that  she  is  growing  insolent  and  ungrate- 
ful, and,  as  the  guilty  thief  who  fears  each  bush  an  offi- 
cer, sees  threatening  innuendoes  and  hints  of  capture  in 


46  VANITY  FAIR 

all  the  girl's  speeches  and  answers.  INIiss  Clapp,  grown 
quite  a  young  woman  now,  is  declared  by  the  soured  old 
lady  to  be  an  unbearable  and  impudent  little  minx. 
AVhy  Amelia  can  be  so  fond  of  her,  or  have  her  in  her 
room  so  much,  or  walk  out  with  her  so  constantly,  Mrs. 
Sedley  cannot  conceive.  The  bitterness  of  poverty  has 
poisoned  the  life  of  the  once  cheerful  and  kindly  woman. 
She  is  thankless  for  Amelia's  constant  and  gentle  bear- 
ing towards  her;  carps  at  her  for  her  efforts  at  kind- 
ness or  service :  rails  at  her  for  her  silly  pride  in  her  child, 
and  her  neglect  of  her  parents.  Georgy's  house  is  not 
a  very  lively  one  since  uncle  Jos's  annuity  has  been  with- 
drawn, and  the  little  family  are  almost  upon  famine 
diet. 

Amelia  thinks,  and  thinks,  and  racks  her  brain,  to 
find  some  means  of  increasing  the  small  pittance  upon 
which  the  household  is  starving.  Can  she  give  lessons 
in  anything?  paint  card-racks?  do  fine  work?  She  finds 
that  women  are  working  hard,  and  better  than  she  can, 
for  twopence  a-day.  She  buys  a  couple  of  begilt  Bris- 
tol boards  at  the  Fancy  Stationer's,  and  paints  her  very 
best  upon  them — a  shepherd  with  a  red  waistcoat  on 
one,  and  a  pink  face  smiling  in  the  midst  of  a  pencil 
landscape — a  shepherdess  on  the  other,  crossing  a  little 
bridge,  with  a  little  dog,  nicely  shaded.  The  man  of  the 
Fancy  Repository  and  Brompton  Emporium  of  Fine 
Arts  (of  whom  she  bought  the  screens,  vainly  hoping 
that  he  would  re-purchase  them  when  ornamented  bj^ 
her  hand ) ,  can  hardly  hide  the  sneer  with  which  he  ex- 
amines these  feeble  works  of  art.  He  looks  askance  at 
the  lady  who  waits  in  the  shop,  and  ties  up  the  cards 
again  in  their  envelope  of  whitey-brown  paper,  and 
hands  them  to  the  poor  widow  and  JNIiss  Clapp,  who  had 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO         47 

never  seen  such  beautiful  things  in  her  life,  and  had 
been  quite  confident  that  the  man  must  give  at  least  two 
guineas  for  the  screens.  They  try  at  other  shops  in  the 
interior  of  London,  with  faint  sickening  hopes.  "  Don't 
want  'em,"  says  one.  "  Be  off,"  says  another  fiercely. 
Three-and-six})ence  have  been  spent  in  vain — the 
screens  retire  to  ^liss  Clapp's  bed-room,  who  persists  in 
thinking  them  lovely. 

She  writes  out  a  little  card  in  her  neatest  hand,  and 
after  long  thought  and  labour  of  composition ;  in  which 
the  public  is  informed  that  "  A  Lady  who  has  some  time 
at  her  disposal  wishes  to  undertake  the  education  of 
some  little  girls,  whom  she  would  instruct  in  English,  in 
French,  in  Geography,  in  History,  and  in  Music— ad- 
dress A.  O.,  at  Mr.  Brown's;  "  and  she  confides  the  card 
to  the  gentleman  of  the  Fine  Art  Repository,  who  con- 
sents to  allow  it  to  lie  upon  the  counter,  where  it  grows 
dingy  and  flyblown.  Amelia  passes  the  door  wistfully 
many  a  time,  in  hopes  that  Mr.  Brown  will  have  some 
news  to  give  her;  but  he  never  beckons  her  in.  When 
she  goes  to  make  little  purchases,  there  is  no  news  for 
her.  Poor  simple  lady,  tender  and  weak — how  are  you 
to  battle  with  the  struggling  violent  world? 

She  grows  daily  more  care-worn  and  sad :  fixing  upon 
her  child  alarmed  eyes,  whereof  the  little  boy  cannot  in- 
terpret the  expression.  She  starts  up  of  a  night  and 
peeps  into  his  room  stealthily,  to  see  that  he  is  sleeping 
and  not  stolen  away.  She  sleeps  but  little  now.  A  con- 
stant thought  and  terror  is  haunting  her.  How  she 
weeps  and  prays  in  the  long  silent  nights — how  she  tries 
to  hide  from  herself  the  thought  wliich  will  return  to 
her,  that  she  ought  to  ])art  witli  the  boy,  that  she  is  tlie 
only  barrier  between  him  and  prosperity.     She  can't, 

VOL.  II J. 


48  VANITY  FAIR 

she  can't.  Not  now,  at  least.  Some  other  day.  Oh!  it 
is  too  hard  to  think  of  and  to  bear. 

A  thought  comes  over  her  which  makes  her  blush  and 
turn  from  herself,— her  parents  might  keep  the  annuity 
— the  curate  would  marry  her  and  give  a  home  to  her  and 
the  boy.  But  George's  picture  and  dearest  memory  are 
there  to  rebuke  her.  Shame  and  love  say  no  to  the  sac- 
rifice. She  shrinks  from  it  as  from  something  unholy; 
and  such  thoughts  never  found  a  resting-place  in  that 
pure  and  gentle  bosom. 

The  combat,  which  we  describe  in  a  sentence  or  two, 
lasted  for  many  weeks  in  poor  Amelia's  heart:  during 
which  she  had  no  confidante:  indeed,  she  could  never 
have  one:  as  she  would  not  allow  to  herself  the  possi- 
bility of  yielding:  though  she  was  giving  way  daily  be- 
fore the  enemj^  with  whom  she  had  to  battle.  One  truth 
after  another  was  marshalling  itself  silently  against 
her,  and  keeping  its  ground.  Poverty  and  misery  for 
all,  want  and  degradation  for  her  parents,  injustice  to 
the  boy — one  by  one  the  outworks  of  the  little  citadel 
were  taken,  in  which  the  poor  soul  passionately  guarded 
her  only  love  and  treasure. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  struggle,  she  had  written  off 
a  letter  of  tender  supplication  to  her  brother  at  Cal- 
cutta, imploring  him  not  to  withdraw  the  support  which 
he  had  granted  to  their  parents,  and  painting  in  terms 
of  artless  pathos  their  lonely  and  hapless  condition.  She 
did  not  know  the  truth  of  the  matter.  The  payment 
of  Jos's  annuity  was  still  regular:  but  it  was  a  money- 
lender in  the  City  who  was  receiving  it :  old  Sedley  had 
sold  it  for  a  sum  of  money  wherewith  to  prosecute  his 
bootless  schemes.  Emmy  was  calculating  eagerly  the 
time  that  would  elapse  before  the  letter  would  arrive 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO         49 

and  be  answered.  She  had  written  down  the  date  in  her 
pocket-book  of  the  day  when  she  dispatched  it.  To  her 
son's  guardian,  the  good  ]Major  at  Madras,  she  had  not 
communicated  any  of  her  griefs  and  perplexities.  She 
had  not  written  to  him  since  she  wrote  to  congratulate 
him  on  his  approaching  marriage.  She  thought  with 
sickening  despondency,  that  that  friend,— the  only  one, 
the  one  who  had  felt  such  a  regard  for  her, — was  fallen 
away. 

One  da}^  when  things  had  come  to  a  very  bad  pass — 
when  the  creditors  were  pressing,  the  mother  in  hys- 
teric grief,  the  father  in  more  than  usual  gloom,  the  in- 
mates of  the  family  avoiding  each  other,  each  secretly 
oppressed  with  his  private  unhappiness  and  notion  of 
wrong— the  father  and  daughter  happened  to  be  left 
alone  together;  and  Amelia  thought  to  comfort  her 
father,  by  telling  him  what  she  had  done.  She  had  writ- 
ten to  Joseph — an  answer  must  come  in  three  or  four 
months.  He  was  always  generous,  though  careless.  He 
could  not  refuse,  when  he  knew  how  straitened  were  the 
circumstances  of  his  parents. 

Then  the  poor  old  gentleman  revealed  the  whole  truth 
to  her — that  his  son  was  still  paying  the  annuity,  which 
his  own  imprudence  had  flung  away.  He  had  not  dared 
to  tell  it  sooner.  He  thought  Amelia's  ghastlj^  and  ter- 
rified look,  when,  with  a  trembling,  miserable  voice  he 
made  the  confession,  conveyed  reproaches  to  him  for 
his  concealment.  "Ah!"  said  he,  with  quivering  lips 
and  turning  away,  "  you  despise  your  old  father  now!  " 

"  O  papa!  it  is  not  that,"  Amelia  cried  out,  falling  on 
his  neck,  and  kissing  him  many  times.  "  You  are  always 
good  and  kind.  You  did  it  for  the  best.  It  is  not  for 
the  money— it  is — O  my  God!  my  God!  have  mercy 


50  VANITY  FAIR 

upon  me,  and  give  me  strength  to  bear  this  trial ;  "  and 
she  kissed  him  again  wildly,  and  went  away. 

Still  the  father  did  not  know  what  that  explanation 
meant,  and  the  burst  of  anguish  with  which  the  poor 
girl  left  him.  It  was  that  she  was  conquered.  The  sen- 
tence was  passed.  The  child  must  go  from  her — to 
others — to  forget  her.  Her  heart  and  her  treasure — 
her  joy,  hope,  love,  worship — her  God,  almost!  She 
must  give  him  up;  and  then — and  then  she  would  go  to 
George:  and  they  would  watch  over  the  child,  and  wait 
for  him  until  he  came  to  them  in  Heaven. 

She  put  on  her  bonnet,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  did, 
and  went  out  to  walk  in  the  lanes  by  which  George  used 
to  come  back  from  school,  and  where  she  was  in  the  habit 
of  going  on  his  return  to  meet  the  boy.  It  was  May,  a 
half -holiday.  The  leaves  were  all  coming  out,  the 
weather  was  brilliant:  the  boy  came  running  to  her 
flushed  with  health,  singing,  his  bundle  of  school-books 
hanging  by  a  thong.  There  he  was.  Both  her  arms 
were  round  him.  No,  it  was  impossible.  They  could 
not  be  going  to  part.  "  What  is  the  matter,  mother?  " 
said  he;  "  you  look  very  pale." 

"  Nothing,  my  child,"  she  said,  and  stooped  down  and 
kissed  him. 

That  night  Amelia  made  the  boy  read  the  story  of 
Samuel  to  her,  and  how  Hannah,  his  mother,  having 
weaned  him,  brought  him  to  Eli  the  High  Priest  to  min- 
ister before  the  Lord.  And  he  read  the  song  of  grati- 
tude which  Hannah  sang:  and  which  says,  who  it  is  who 
maketh  poor  and  maketh  rich,  and  bringeth  low  and  ex- 
alteth — how  the  poor  shall  be  raised  up  out  of  the  dust, 
and  how,  in  his  own  might,  no  man  shall  be  strong. 
Then  he  read  how  Samuel's  mother  made  him  a  little 


A   XOVEL   AVITHOUT   A   HERO        51 

coat,  and  brought  it  to  him  from  year  to  year  when  she 
came  up  to  offer  the  yearly  sacrifice.  And  then,  in  her 
sweet  simple  way,  George's  mother  made  commentaries 
to  the  boy  upon  this  affecting  story.  How  Hannah, 
though  she  loved  her  son  so  much,  yet  gave  him  up  be- 
cause of  her  vow.  And  how  she  must  always  have 
thought  of  him  as  she  sat  at  home,  far  away,  making 
the  little  coat;  and  Samuel,  she  was  sure,  never  forgot 
his  mother:  and  how  happy  she  must  have  been  as  the 
time  came  (and  the  \^ears  pass  away  very  quick)  when 
she  should  see  her  boy,  and  how  good  and  wise  he  had 
grown.  This  little  sermon  she  spoke  with  a  gentle  sol- 
emn voice,  and  dry  eyes,  until  she  came  to  the  account 
of  their  meeting— then  the  discourse  broke  off  suddenly, 
the  tender  heart  overflowed,  and  taking  the  boy  to  her 
breast,  she  rocked  him  in  her  arms,  and  wtpt  silently 
over  him  in  a  sainted  agony  of  tears. 

Her  mind  being  made  up,  the  widow  began  to  take 
such  measures  as  seemed  right  to  her  for  advancing  the 
end  which  she  proposed.  One  day,  Miss  Osborne,  in 
Russell  Square  (Amelia  had  not  written  the  name  or 
number  of  the  house  for  ten  years — her  youth,  her  early 
story  came  back  to  her  as  she  wrote  the  superscription) 
— one  day  Miss  Osborne  got  a  letter  from  Amelia,  which 
made  her  blush  very  much  and  look  towards  her  father, 
sitting  glooming  in  his  place  at  the  other  end  of  the  table. 

In  simple  terms,  Amelia  told  her  the  reasons  which 
had  induced  her  to  change  her  mind  respecting  her  boy. 
Her  father  had  met  witli  fresh  misfortunes  which  had 
entirely  ruined  him.  Her  own  pittance  was  so  small 
tliat  it  would  l)arely  enable  her  to  support  her  parents, 
and  would  not  suffice  to  give  George  the  advantages 


52  VANITY  FAIR 

which  were  his  due.  Great  as  her  sufferings  would  be 
at  parting  with  him,  she  would,  by  God's  help,  endure 
them  for  the  boy's  sake.  She  knew  that  those  to  whom 
he  was  going,  would  do  all  in  their  power  to  make  him 
happy.  She  described  his  disposition,  such  as  she  fan- 
cied it;  quick  and  impatient  of  control  or  harshness; 
easily  to  be  moved  by  love  and  kindness.  In  a  postscript, 
she  stipulated  that  she  should  have  a  written  agree- 
ment, that  she  should  see  the  child  as  often  as  she 
wished,— she  could  not  part  with  him  under  any  other 
terms. 

"  What?  ]Mrs.  Pride  has  come  down,  has  she?  "  old 
Osborne  said,  when  with  a  tremulous  eager  voice  Miss 
Osborne  read  him  the  letter — "  Reg'lar  starved  out, 
hey?  ha,  ha!  I  knew  she  would."  He  tried  to  keep  his 
dignitjT-  and  to  read  his  paper  as  usual, — but  he  could 
not  follow  it.  He  chuckled  and  swore  to  himself  be- 
hind the  sheet. 

At  last  he  flung  it  down:  and  scowling  at  his  daugh- 
ter, as  his  wont  was,  went  out  of  the  room  into  his  study 
adjoining,  from  whence  he  presently  returned  with  a 
key.    He  flung  it  to  Miss  Osborne. 

"  Get  the  room  over  mine — his  room  that  was — 
ready,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  sir,"  his  daughter  replied  in  a 
tremble.  It  was  George's  room.  It  had  not  been 
opened  for  more  than  ten  years.  Some  of  his  clothes, 
papers,  handkerchiefs,  whips  and  caps,  fishing-rods  and 
sporting  gear,  were  still  there.  An  arm\^  list  of  1814, 
with  his  name  written  on  the  cover ;  a  little  dictionarj^  he 
was  wont  to  use  in  writing ;  and  the  Bible  his  mother  had 
given  him,  were  on  the  mantel-piece;  with  a  pair  of 
spurs,  and  a  dried  inkstand  covered  with  the  dust  of 
ten  years.    Ah!  since  that  ink  was  wet,  what  days  and 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO        53 

people  had  passed  away!  The  writing-book  still  on  the 
table,  was  blotted  with  his  hand. 

JNIiss  Osborne  was  much  affected  when  she  first  en- 
tered this  room  with  the  servants  under  her.  She  sank 
quite  pale  on  the  little  bed.  "  This  is  blessed  news,  mam 
— indeed,  mam,"  the  housekeeper  said;  "and  the  good 
old  times  is  returning,  mam.  The  dear  little  feller,  to  be 
sure,  mam;  how  happy  he  will  be!  But  some  folks  in 
INIay  Fair,  mam,  will  owe  him  a  grudge,  mam;  "  and 
she  clicked  back  the  bolt  which  held  the  window-sash, 
and  let  the  air  into  the  chamber. 

"  You  had  better  send  that  woman  some  money,"  Mr. 
Osborne  said,  before  he  went  out.  "  She  shan't  want 
for  nothing.    Send  her  a  hundred  pound." 

"  And  I'll  go  and  see  her  to-morrow?  "  Miss  Osborne 
asked. 

"  That's  your  look  out.  She  don't  come  in  here,  mind. 
Xo,  by  — ,  not  for  all  the  money  in  London.  But  she 
mustn't  want  now.  So  look  out,  and  get  things  right." 
With  which  brief  speeches  Mr.  Osborne  took  leave  of  his 
daughter,  and  went  on  his  accustomed  way  into  the  City. 

"  Here,  Papa,  is  some  money,"  Amelia  said  that  night, 
kissing  the  old  man,  her  father,  and  putting  a  bill  for  a 
hundred  pounds  into  his  hands.  "  And — and,  ISIamma, 
don't  be  harsh  with  Georgy.  He — he  is  not  going  to 
stop  with  us  long."  She  could  say  nothing  more,  and 
walked  away  silently  to  her  room.  Let  us  close  it  upon 
her  prayers  and  her  sorrow.  I  tliink  we  had  best  speak 
little  a])out  so  much  love  and  grief. 

jNIiss  Os])orne  came  tlie  next  day,  according  to  the 
promise  contained  in  lier  note,  and  saw  Amelia.  Tlie 
meeting  between  them  was  friendly.  A  look  and  a  few 
words  from  JNIiss  Osborne  showed  the  poor  widow  tluit, 


54  VANITY  FAIR 

with  regard  to  this  woman  at  least,  there  need  be  no  fear 
lest  she  should  take  the  first  place  in  her  son's  affection. 
She  was  cold,  sensible,  not  unkind.  The  mother  had  not 
been  so  well  pleased,  perhaps,  had  the  rival  been  better 
looking,  younger,  more  affectionate,  warmer-hearted. 
Miss  Osborne,  on  the  other  hand,  thought  of  old  times 
and  memories,  and  could  not  but  be  touched  with  the 
poor  mother's  pitiful  situation.  She  was  conquered,  and 
laying  down  her  arms,  as  it  were,  she  humbly  submitted. 
That  day  they  arranged  together  the  preliminaries  of 
the  treaty  of  capitulation. 

George  was  kept  from  school  the  next  day,  and  saw 
his  aunt.  Amelia  left  them  alone  together,  and  went 
to  her  room.  She  was  trying  the  separation: — as  that 
poor  gentle  Lady  Jane  Grey  felt  the  edge  of  the  axe 
that  was  to  come  down  and  sever  her  slender  life.  Days 
were  passed  in  parleys,  visits,  preparations.  The  widow 
broke  the  matter  to  Georgy  with  great  caution;  she 
looked  to  see  him  very  much  affected  by  the  intelligence. 
He  was  rather  elated  than  otherwise,  and  the  poor  wo- 
man turned  sadly  away.  He  bragged  about  the  news 
that  day  to  the  boys  at  school;  told  them  how  he  was 
going  to  live  with  his  grandpapa,  his  father's  father, 
not  the  one  who  comes  here  sometimes ;  and  that  he  would 
be  very  rich,  and  have  a  carriage,  and  a  pony,  and  go  to 
a  much  finer  school,  and  when  he  was  rich  he  would  bviv 
Leader's  pencil-case,  and  pay  the  tart  woman.  The  boy 
was  the  image  of  his  father,  as  his  fond  mother  thought. 

Indeed  I  have  no  heart,  on  account  of  our  dear  Ame- 
lia's sake,  to  go  through  the  story  of  George's  last  days 
at  home. 

At  last  the  day  came,  the  carriage  drove  up,  the  little 
humble  packets  containing  tokens  of  love  and  remem- 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO         55 

brance  were  ready  and  disposed  in  the  hall  long  since — 
George  was  in  his  new  suit,  for  which  the  tailor  had 
come  previously  to  measure  him.  He  had  sprung  up 
Avith  the  sun  and  put  on  the  new  clothes ;  his  mother  hear- 
ing him  from  the  room  close  by,  in  which  she  had  been 
lying,  in  speechless  grief  and  watching.  Days  before 
she  had  been  making  preparations  for  the  end ;  purchas- 
ing little  stores  for  the  boy's  use;  marking  his  books  and 
linen;  talking  with  him  and  preparing  him  for  the 
change — fondh^  fancying  that  he  needed  preparation. 

So  that  he  had  change,  what  cared  he  ?  He  was  long- 
ing for  it.  By  a  thousand  eager  declarations  as  to  what 
he  would  do,  when  he  went  to  live  with  his  grandfather, 
he  had  shown  the  poor  widow  how  little  the  idea  of  part- 
ing had  cast  him  down.  "  He  would  come  and  see  his 
mamma  often  on  the  pony,"  he  said:  "he  would  come 
and  fetch  her  in  the  carriage;  they  would  drive  in  the 
Park,  and  she  should  have  everything  she  wanted."  The 
poor  mother  was  fain  to  content  herself  with  these  sel- 
fish demonstrations  of  attachment,  and  tried  to  convince 
herself  how  sincerely  her  son  loved  her.  He  must  love 
her.  All  children  were  so:  a  little  anxious  for  novelty, 
and — no,  not  selfish,  but  self-willed.  Her  child  must 
have  his  enjoyments  and  ambition  in  the  world.  She 
herself,  by  her  own  selfishness  and  imprudent  love  for 
him,  had  denied  him  his  just  rights  and  pleasures 
hitherto. 

I  know  few  things  more  affecting  than  that  timorous 
debasement  and  self-liumiliation  of  a  woman.  How  she 
owns  that  it  is  she  and  not  the  man  who  is  guilty:  how 
she  takes  all  the  faults  on  her  side:  how  slie  courts  in 
a  manner  punishment  for  the  wrongs  which  she  has  not 
committed,  and  persists  in  shielding  the  real  culprit!    It 


56  VANITY  FAIR 

is  those  who  injure  women  who  get  the  most  kindness 
from  them — they  are  born  timid  and  tyrants,  and  mal- 
treat those  who  are  humblest  before  them. 

So  poor  i\melia  had  been  getting  readj^  in  silent 
misery  for  her  son's  departure,  and  had  passed  many 
and  many  a  long  solitary  hour  in  making  preparations 
for  the  end.  George  stood  by  his  mother,  watching  her 
arrangements  without  the  least  concern.  Tears  had 
fallen  into  his  boxes;  passages  had  been  scored  in  his 
favourite  books;  old  toys,  relics,  treasures  had  been 
hoarded  away  for  him,  and  packed  with  strange  neatness 
and  care, — and  of  all  these  things  the  boy  took  no  note. 
The  child  goes  away  smiling  as  the  mother  breaks  her 
heart.  By  heavens  it  is  pitiful,  the  bootless  love  of 
women  for  children  in  Vanity  Fair. 

A  few  days  are  past :  and  the  great  event  of  Amelia's 
life  is  consummated.  Xo  angel  has  intervened.  The 
child  is  sacrificed  and  offered  up  to  fate ;  and  the  widow 
is  quite  alone. 

The  boy  comes  to  see  her  often,  to  be  sure.  He  rides 
on  a  pony  with  the  coachman  behind  him,  to  the  delight 
of  his  old  grandfather,  Sedlej^  who  walks  proudly  do^vn 
the  lane  by  his  side.  She  sees  him,  but  he  is  not  her  boy 
any  more.  Why,  he  rides  to  see  the  boys  at  the  little 
school,  too,  and  to  show  off  before  them  his  new  wealth 
and  splendour.  In  two  days  he  has  adopted  a  slightly 
imperious  air  and  patronising  manner.  He  was  born  to 
command,  his  mother  thinks,  as  his  father  was  before 
him. 

It  is  fine  weather  now.  Of  evenings  on  the  days  when 
he  does  not  come,  she  takes  a  long  walk  into  London — 
yes,  as  far  as  Russell  Square,  and  rests  on  the  stone  by 
the  railing  of  the  garden  opposite  ]Mr.  Osborne's  house. 


•^"^ 


•r    If 


U'l:^ 


^'f: 


,,  J  if.  t'  ._ 


■  oea  to  church. 


y';ljL!;v..y 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO 


57 


It  is  so  pleasant  and  cool.  She  can  look  up  and  see  the 
drawing-room  windows  illuminated,  and,  at  about  nine 
o'clock,  the  chamber  in  the  upper  story  where  Georgy 
sleeps.  She  knows — He  has  told  her.  She  praj^s  there 
as  the  light  goes  out,  prays  with  an  humble  hmnble  heart, 


..ill." 


and  walks  home  shrinking  and  silent.  She  is  very  tired 
when  she  comes  home.  IVihaps  she  will  sleep  the  better 
for  tliat  loni*:  wearv  walk;  and  she  may  dream  about 
(ieorgy. 


58  VANITY  FAIR 

One  Sunday  she  happened  to  be  walking  in  Russell 
Square,  at  some  distance  from  Mr.  Osborne's  house  (she 
could  see  it  from  a  distance  though)  when  all  the  bells  of 
Sabbath  were  ringing,  and  George  and  his  aunt  came 
out  to  go  to  church ;  a  little  sweep  asked  for  charity,  and 
the  footman,  who  carried  the  books,  tried  to  drive  him 
away;  but  Georgy  stopped  and  gave  him  money.  May 
God's  blessing  be  on  the  boy!  Emmy  ran  round  the 
square,  and  coming  up  to  the  sweep,  gave  him  her  mite 
too.  All  the  bells  of  Sabbath  were  ringing,  and  she  fol- 
lowed them  until  she  came  to  the  Foundling  Church,  into 
which  she  went.  There  she  sat  in  a  place  whence  she 
could  see  the  head  of  the  boy  under  his  father's  tomb- 
stone. Many  hundred  fresh  children's  voices  rose  up 
there  and  sang  hymns  to  the  Father  Beneficent ;  and  lit- 
tle George's  soul  thrilled  with  delight  at  the  burst  of  glo- 
rious psalmody.  His  mother  could  not  see  him  for 
a  while,  through  the  mist  that  dimmed  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER   LI 


IN  WHICH  A  CHAR^U)E  IS  ACTED  WHICH  MAY  OR  MAY  NOT 

VUZZLB    THE     READER 

FTER  Becky's  appearance  at 
my  Lord  Steyne's  pri- 
vate and  select  parties, 
the  claims  of  that  es- 
timable woman  as  re- 
gards fashion  were 
settled ;  and  some  of  the 
very  greatest  and  tall- 
est doors  in  the  me- 
tropolis were  speedily 
opened  to  her  —  doors 
so  great  and  tall  that 
the  beloved  reader  and 
writer  hereof  maj^  hope 
in  vain  to  enter  at  them. 
Dear  brethren,  let  us 
tremble  before  those  august  portals.  I  fancy  them 
guarded  by  grooms  of  the  chamber  with  flaming  silver 
forks  with  which  they  prong  all  those  who  have  not  the 
right  of  the  entree.  They  say  the  honest  newspaper-fel- 
low who  sits  in  the  hall  and  takes  down  the  names  of  the 
great  ones  who  are  admitted  to  the  feasts,  dies  after  a 
little  time.  He  can't  survive  the  glare  of  fashion  long. 
It  scorches  him  up,  as  the  ])resence  of  Jupiter  in  full 
dress   wasted   that   poor   imprudent    Semele — a   giddy 

59 


60  VANITY  FAIR 

moth  of  a  creature  who  ruined  herself  by  venturing  out 
of  her  natural  atmosphere.  Her  myth  ought  to  be  taken 
to  heart  amongst  the  Tyburnians,  the  Belgravians, — her 
story,  and  perhaps  Becky's  too.  Ah,  ladies! — ask  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Thurifer  if  Belgravia  is  not  a  sound- 
ing brass,  and  Tyburnia  a  tinkling  cymbal.  These  are 
vanities.  Even  these  will  pass  away.  And  some  day  or 
other  (but  it  will  be  after  our  time,  thank  goodness,) 
Hvde  Park  Gardens  will  be  no  better  known  than  the 
celebrated  horticultural  outskirts  of  Babylon;  and  Bel- 
grave  Square  will  be  as  desolate  as  Baker  Street,  or  Tad- 
mor  in  the  wilderness. 

Ladies,  are  you  aware  that  the  great  Pitt  lived  in 
Baker  Street?  What  would  not  your  grandmothers 
have  given  to  be  asked  to  Lady  Hester's  parties  in  that 
now  decayed  mansion?  I  have  dined  in  it — moi  qui  vous 
parle.  I  peopled  the  chamber  with  ghosts  of  the  mighty 
dead.  As  we  sate  soberly  drinking  claret  there  with 
men  of  to-day,  the  spirits  of  the  departed  came  in  and 
took  their  places  round  the  darksome  board.  The  pilot 
who  weathered  the  storm  tossed  off  great  bumpers  of 
spiritual  port:  the  shade  of  Dundas  did  not  leave  the 
ghost  of  a  heeltap. — Addington  sate  bowing  and  smirk- 
ing in  a  ghastly  manner,  and  would  not  be  behindhand 
when  the  noiseless  bottle  went  round ;  Scott,  from  under 
bushy  eyebrows,  winked  at  the  apparition  of  a  bees- 
wing; Wilberforce's  eyes  went  up  to  the  ceiling,  so 
that  he  did  not  seem  to  know  how  his  glass  went  up  full 
to  his  mouth  and  came  down  empty; — up  to  the 'ceiling 
which  was  above  us  only  j^esterday,  and  which  the  great 
of  the  past  days  have  all  looked  at.  They  let  the  house 
as  a  furnished  lodging  now.  Yes,  Lady  Hester  once 
lived  in  Baker  Street,  and  lies  asleep  in  the  wilderness. 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO  Gl 

Eothen  saw  her  there — not  in  Baker  Street:   hut  in  the 
other  soHtude. 

It  is  all  vanity  to  he  sure:  hut  who  will  not  own  to 
liking  a  little  of  it?  I  should  like  to  know  what  well- 
eonstituted  mind,  merely  hecause  it  is  transitory,  dis- 
likes roast-heef?  That  is  a  vanity;  hut  may  every  man 
who  reads  this,  have  a  wholesome  portion  of  it  through 
life,  I  heg:  aye,  though  my  readers  were  five  hundred 
thousand.  Sit  down,  gentlemen,  and  fall  to,  with  a  good 
hearty  appetite;  the  fat,  the  lean,  the  gravy,  the  horse- 
radish as  you  like  it — don't  spare  it.  Another  glass  of 
wine,  Jones,  mv  hov — a  little  bit  of  the  Sunday  side. 
Yes,  let  us  eat  our  fill  of  the  vain  thing,  and  be  thankful 
therefor.  And  let  us  make  the  best  of  Becky's  aris- 
tocratic pleasures  likewise — for  these  too,  like  all  other 
mortal  delights,  were  but  transitory. 

The  upshot  of  her  visit  to  Lord  Steyne  was,  that  His 
Highness  the  Prince  of  Peterwaradin  took  occasion  to 
renew  his  acquaintance  with  Colonel  Crawley,  when  they 
met  on  the  next  day  at  the  Club,  and  to  compliment  Mrs. 
Crawley  in  the  Ring  of  Hyde  Park  with  a  profound 
salute  of  the  hat.  She  and  her  husband  were  invited  im- 
mediately to  one  of  the  Prince's  small  parties  at  Levant 
House,  then  occupied  by  His  Highness  dui-ing  the  tem- 
porary absence  from  England  of  its  noble  proprietor. 
She  sang  after  dinner  to  a  very  little  com'itc.  The  JNIar- 
(juiii  of  Steyne  was  present,  paternally  superintending 
the  progress  of  his  pu])il. 

At  I^evant  House  Becky  met  one  of  the  finest  gentle- 
men and  greatest  ministers  that  ]<Luro])e  has  produced  — 
the  13uc    de  la  Jabotiere,  then   Ambassador  from  the 

Most  Christian  King,  and  subse(iuently  ^Minister  to  that 

vor..  III. 


62  VANITY  FAIR 

monarch.  I  declare  I  swell  with  pride  as  these  august 
names  are  transcribed  by  my  pen;  and  I  think  in  what 
brilliant  company  my  dear  Becky  is  moving.  She  be- 
came a  constant  guest  at  the  French  Embassy,  where  no 
party  was  considered  to  be  complete  without  the  pres- 
ence of  the  charming  jNIadame  Ravdonn  Cravley. 

Messieurs  de  Truffigny  (of  the  Perigord  family)  and 
Champignac,  both  attaches  of  the  Embassy,  were 
straightway  smitten  by  the  charms  of  the  fair  Colonel's 
wife :  and  both  declared,  according  to  the  wont  of  their 
nation,  ( for  who  ever  yet  met  a  Frenchman,  come  out  of 
England,  that  has  not  left  half  a  dozen  families  misera- 
ble, and  brought  away  as  many  hearts  in  his  pocket- 
book?)  both,  I  say,  declared  that  thej'^  were  aux  mieux 
with  the  charming  Madame  Ravdonn. 

But  I  doubt  the  correctness  of  the  assertion.  Cham- 
pignac was  very  fond  of  ecarte,  and  made  manj^  jmrties 
with  the  Colonel  of  evenings,  while  Becky  was  singing 
to  Lord  Steyne  in  the  other  room ;  and  as  for  Truffigny, 
it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  he  dared  not  go  to  the  Trav- 
ellers', where  he  owed  money  to  the  waiters,  and  if  he 
had  not  had  the  Embassy  as  a  dining-place,  the  worthy 
young  gentleman  must  have  starved.  I  doubt,  I  say, 
that  Becky  would  have  selected  either  of  these  young 
men  as  a  person  on  whom  she  would  bestow  her  special 
regard.  They  ran  of  her  messages,  purchased  her  gloves 
and  flowers,  went  in  debt  for  opera-boxes  for  her,  and 
made  themselves  amiable  in  a  thousand  ways.  And  they 
talked  English  with  adorable  simplicity,  and  to  the  con- 
stant amusement  of  Becky  and  my  Lord  Steyne,  she 
w^ould  mimic  one  or  other  to  his  face,  and  compliment 
him  on  his  advance  in  the  English  language  Math  a  grav- 
ity which  never  failed  to  tickle  the  JNIarquis,  her  sardonic 


A    XOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO         63 

old  patron.  Truffigny  gave  Briggs  a  shawl  by  way  of 
winning  over  Becky's  confidante,  and  asked  her  to  take 
charge  of  a  letter  which  the  simple  spinster  handed  over 
in  public  to  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed ;  and 
the  composition  of  which  amused  everybody  who  read  it 
greatly.  Lord  Stejme  read  it:  everybody  but  honest 
Rawdon ;  to  whom  it  was  not  necessary  to  tell  everything 
that  passed  in  the  little  house  in  JMay  Fair. 

Here,  before  long,  Becky  received  not  only  "  the 
best  "  foreigners  (as  the  phrase  is  in  our  noble  and  ad- 
mirable society  slang),  but  some  of  the  best  English 
people  too.  I  don't  mean  the  most  virtuous,  or  indeed 
the  least  virtuous,  or  the  cleverest,  or  the  stupidest,  or 
the  richest,  or  the  best  born,  but  "  the  best," — in  a  word, 
people  about  whom  there  is  no  question — such  as  the 
great  Lady  Fitz-Willis,  that  Patron  Saint  of  Almack's, 
the  great  Lady  Slowbore,  the  great  Lady  Grizzel  jNIac- 
beth  (she  was  Lady  G.  Glowry,  daughter  of  Lord  Grey 
of  Glowry),  and  the  like.  When  the  Countess  of  Fitz- 
Willis  (her  ladyship  is  of  the  Kingstreet  family,  see  De- 
brett  and  Burke)  takes  up  a  person,  he  or  she  is  safe. 
There  is  no  question  about  them  any  more.  Not  that  my 
I^ady  Fitz-Willis  is  any  better  than  anybody  else,  being, 
on  the  contrary,  a  faded  person,  fiftj^-seven  years  of  age, 
and  neither  handsome,  nor  wealthy,  nor  entertaining; 
l)iit  it  is  agreed  on  all  sides  that  she  is  of  the  "  best  peo- 
ple." Those  who  go  to  her  are  of  the  best:  and  i'rom  an 
old  grudge  pro})ab]y  to  I^ady  Steyne  (for  whose  coronet 
lier  ladyship,  then  the  youthful  (ieorgina  Fix-derica, 
daughter  of  the  Frince  of  W^ales's  favourite,  the  Earl 
of  I'ortansherry,  had  once  tried),  this  great  and  famous 
lejider  of  the  fashion  cliose  to  acknowledge  jNIrs.  ]{a\v- 
rlon  Crawlev:    made  her  a  most  marked  curtsev  at  the 


64  VANITY  FAIR 

assembly  over  which  she  presided:  and  not  only  en- 
couraged her  son,  St.  Kitts  (his  lordship  got  his  place 
through  Lord  Steyne's  interest) ,  to  frequent  Mrs.  Craw- 
ley's house,  but  asked  her  to  her  own  mansion,  and  spoke 
to  her  twice  in  the  most  public  and  condescending  man- 
ner during  dinner.  The  important  fact  was  known  all 
over  London  that  night.  People  who  had  been  crying 
fie  about  Mrs.  Crawley  were  silent.  Wenliam,  the  wit 
and  lawyer,  Lord  Steyne's  right-hand  man,  went  about 
everywhere  praising  her :  some  w  ho  had  hesitated,  came 
forward  at  once  and  welcomed  her:  little  Tom  Toady, 
who  had  warned  Southdown  about  visiting  such  an  aban- 
doned woman,  now  besought  to  be  introduced  to  her.  In 
a  word,  she  was  admitted  to  be  among  the  "  best  "  peo- 
ple. Ah,  my  beloved  readers  and  brethren,  do  not  envy 
poor  Becky  prematurely — glory  like  this  is  said  to  be 
fugitive.  It  is  currently  reported  that  even  in  the  very 
inmost  circles,  they  are  no  happier  than  the  poor  wan- 
derers outside  the  zone;  and  Beck}^  who  penetrated  into 
the  very  centre  of  fashion,  and  saw  the  great  George  IV. 
face  to  face,  has  owned  since  that  there  too  was  Vanity. 

We  must  be  brief  in  descanting  upon  this  part  of  her 
career.  As  I  cannot  describe  the  mysteries  of  freema- 
sonry, although  I  have  a  shrewd  idea  that  it  is  a  humbug : 
so  an  uninitiated  man  cannot  take  upon  himself  to  pour- 
tray  the  great  world  accurateh%  and  had  best  keep  his 
opinions  to  himself  whatever  they  are. 

Becky  has  often  sjjoken  in  subsequent  years  of  this 
season  of  her  life,  when  she  moved  among  the  very  great- 
est circles  of  the  London  fashion.  Her  success  excited, 
elated,  and  then  bored  her.  At  first  no  occupation  was 
more  pleasant  than  to  invent  and  procure  (the  latter  a 
work  of  no  small  trouble  and  ingenuity,  by  the  way,  in 


A    XOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO         65 

a  person  of  ^Nlrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  very  narrow  means) 
— to  procure,  we  say,  the  prettiest  new  dresses  and  or- 
naments; to  drive  to  fine  dinner  parties,  where  she  was 
welcomed  by  great  people:  and  from  the  fine  dinner 
parties  to  fine  assemblies,  whither  the  same  people  came 
with  whom  she  had  been  dining,  whom  she  had  met  the 
night  before,  and  would  see  on  the  morrow — the  young- 
men  faultlessly  appointed,  handsomely  cravatted,  with 
the  neatest  glossy  boots  and  white  gloves — the  elders 
portly,  brass-buttoned,  noble-looking,  polite,  and  prosy 
— the  young  ladies  blonde,  timid,  and  in  pink — the 
mothers  grand,  beautiful,  sumptuous,  solemn,  and  iw 
diamonds.  They  talked  in  English,  not  in  bad  French, 
as  they  do  in  the  novels.  They  talked  about  each  other's 
houses,  and  characters,  and  families:  just  as  the  Joneses 
do  about  the  Smiths.  Becky's  former  acquaintances 
hated  and  envied  her:  the  poor  woman  herself  was 
yawning  in  spirit.  "  I  wish  I  were  out  of  it,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "  I  would  rather  be  a  parson's  wife,  and  teach 
a  Sunday  School  than  this ;  or  a  sergeant's  lady  and  ride 
in  the  regimental  waggon;  or,  O  how  much  gayer  it 
would  be  to  wear  spangles  and  trowsers,  and  dance  be- 
fore a  bootli  at  a  fair." 

"  You  would  do  it  ver}'^  well,"  said  Lord  Steyne, 
laughing.  She  used  to  tell  the  great  man  her  cti- 
?uiis  and  perplexities  in  her  artless  way — they  amused 
him. 

"  Rawdon  would  make  a  very  good  Ecuyer — Master 
of  the  Ceremonies— what  do  you  call  him — the  man  in 
the  large  boots  and  the  uniform,  wlio  goes  round  the  ring 
cracking  the  wliip?  He  is  large,  heavy,  and  of  a  mili- 
tary figure.  I  recollect,"  Becky  continued,  pensively, 
"  my  fatli(  r  took  nic  to  sec  a  sliow  at  Brookgreen  Fair 


66  VANITY  FAIR 

when  I  was  a  child;  and  when  we  came  home  I  made 
myself  a  pair  of  stilts,  and  danced  in  the  studio  to  the 
wonder  of  all  the  pupils." 

"  I  should  have  liked  to  see  it,"  said  Lord  Stevne. 

"  I  should  like  to  do  it  now,"  Becky  continued.  "  How 
Lady  Blinkey  would  open  her  eyes,  and  Lady  Grizzel 
Macbeth  would  stare !  Hush !  silence !  there  is  Pasta  be- 
ginning to  sing."  Becky  always  made  a  point  of  being 
conspicuously  polite  to  the  professional  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen who  attended  at  these  aristocratic  parties — of 
following  them  into  the  corners  where  they  sate  in  si- 
lence, and  shaking  hands  with  them,  and  smiling  in  the 
view  of  all  persons.  She  was  an  artist  herself,  as  siie 
said  very  truly:  there  was  a  frankness  and  humility  in 
the  manner  in  which  she  acknowledged  her  origin,  which 
provoked,  or  disarmed,  or  amused  lookers-on,  as  the  case 
might  be.  "  How  cool  that  woman  is,"  said  one ;  "what 
airs  of  independence  she  assumes,  where  she  ought  to  sit 
still  and  be  thankful  if  anybody  speaks  to  her."  "  What 
an  honest  and  good-natured  soul  she  is,"  said  another. 
"  What  an  artful  little  minx,"  said  a  third.  They  were 
all  right  very  likely;  but  Becky  went  her  own  way,  and 
so  fascinated  the  professional  personages,  that  they 
would  leave  off  their  sore  throats  in  order  to  sing  at  her 
parties,  and  give  her  lessons  for  nothing. 

Yes,  she  gave  parties  in  the  little  house  in  Curzon 
Street.  Many  scores  of  carriages,  with  blazing  lamps, 
blocked  up  the  street,  to  the  disgust  of  No.  200,  who 
could  not  rest  for  the  thunder  of  the  knocking,  and  of 
202,  who  could  not  sleep  for  envy.  The  gigantic  foot- 
men who  accompanied  the  vehicles,  were  too  big  to  be 
contained  in  Becky's  little  hall,  and  were  billeted  off  in 
the  neighbouring  public-houses,  whence,  when  they  were 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO         G7 

wanted,  call-boys  summoned  them  from  their  beer. 
Scores  of  the  great  dandies  of  London  squeezed  and 
trod  on  each  other  on  the  little  stairs,  laughing  to  find 
themselves  there;  and  many  spotless  and  severe  ladies 
of  ton  were  seated  in  the  little  drawing-room,  listening 
to  the  professional  singers,  who  were  singing  according 
to  their  wont,  and  as  if  they  wished  to  blow  the  windows 
down.  And  the  day  after,  there  appeared  among  the 
fashionable  reunions  in  the  Morning  Post,  a  paragraph 
to  the  following  effect:  — 

"  Yesterday,  Colonel  and  iNIrs.  Crawley  entertained 
a  select  party  at  dinner  at  their  house  in  ]May  Fair. 
Their  Excellencies  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Peter- 
waradin,  PI.  E.  Papoosh  Pasha,  the  Turkish  Am- 
bassador (attended  by  Kibob  Bey,  dragoman  of  the 
mission),  the  ]Marquess  of  Steyne,  Earl  of  Southdown, 
Sir  Pitt  and  Lady  Jane  Crawley,  ]\Ir.  Wagg,  &:c.  After 
dinner  ]Mrs.  Crawlev  had  an  assembly  which  was  at- 
tended  by  the  Duchess  (Dowager)  of  Stilton,  Due  de 
la  Gruyere,  Marchioness  of  Cheshire,  JNIarchese  Ales- 
sandro  Strachino,  Comte  de  Brie,  Baron  Schaj^zuger, 
Chevalier  Tosti,  Countess  of  Slingstone,  and  Lady  F. 
Macadam,  ^Major-General  and  Lady  G.  JNIacbeth,  and 
(2)  Miss  Macbeths;  Viscount  Paddington,  Sir  Horace 
Fogey,  Hon.  Sands  Bedwin,  Bobbachy  Bahawder,"  and 
an  &:c.  \\  hich  the  reader  may  fill  at  his  pleasure  through 
a  dozen  close  lines  of  small  type. 

x\nd  in  her  commerce  with  the  great  our  dear  friend 
sliowed  tlie  same  frankness  wJiich  distinguished  her 
transactions  witli  tlie  lowly  in  station.  On  one  occasion, 
wlien  out  at  a  very  fine  house,  Rebecca  was  (perhaps 
ratlier  ostentatiously)  liolding  a  conversation  in  the 
French  language  with  a  celebrated  tenor  singer  of  that 


68  VANITY  FAIR 

nation,  while  the  Lady  Grizzel  Macbeth  looked  over  her 
shoulder  scowling  at  the  pair. 

"  How  very  well  you  speak  French,"  Lady  Grizzel 
said,  who  herself  spoke  the  tongue  in  an  Edinburgh  ac- 
cent most  remarkable  to  hear. 

"  I  ought  to  know  it,"  Becky  modestly  said,  casting 
down  her  eyes.  "  I  taught  it  in  a  school,  and  my  mother 
was  a  Frenchwoman." 

Lady  Grizzel  was  won  by  her  humility,  and  was  mol- 
lified towards  the  little  woman.  She  deplored  the  fatal 
levelling  tendencies  of  the  age,  which  admitted  persons 
of  all  classes  into  the  society  of  their  superiors ;  but  her 
ladyship  owned,  that  this  one  at  least  was  well  behaved 
and  never  forgot  her  place  in  life.  She  was  a  very  good 
woman:  good  to  the  poor:  stupid,  blameless,  unsus- 
picious.—  It  is  not  her  ladyship's  fault  that  she  fancies 
herself  better  than  you  and  me.  The  skirts  of  her  an- 
cestors'  garments  have  been  kissed  for  centuries:  it  is 
a  thousand  years,  they  say,  since  the  tartans  of  the  head 
of  the  family  were  embraced  by  the  defunct  Duncan's 
lords  and  councillors,  when  the  great  ancestor  of  the 
House  became  King  of  Scotland. 

Lad}^  Steyne,  after  the  music  scene,  succumbed  before 
Becky,  and  perhaps  was  not  disinclined  to  her.  The 
younger  ladies  of  the  house  of  Gaunt  were  also  com- 
pelled into  submission.  Once  or  twice  they  set  people 
at  her,  but  they  failed.  The  brilliant  Lady  Stunning- 
ton  tried  a  passage  of  arms  with  her,  but  was  routed  with 
great  slaughter  by  the  intrepid  little  Becky.  When 
attacked  sometimes,  Becky  had  a  knack  of  adopting  a 
demure  ingenue  air,  under  which  she  was  most  danger- 
ous. She  said  the  wickedest  things  with  the  most  simple 
unaffected  air  when  in  this  mood,  and  would  take  care 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO         G9 

artlessly  to  apologise  for  her  blunders,  so  that  all  the 
world  should  know  that  she  had  made  them. 

]Mr.  Wagg,  the  celebrated  wit,  and  a  led  captain  and 
trencher-man  of  mv  Lord  Stevne.  was  caused  by  the 
ladies  to  charge  her;  and  the  worthy  fellow,  leering  at 
his  patronesses,  and  giving  them  a  wink,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  Now  look  out  for  sport," — one  evening  began  an 
assault  upon  Becky,  who  was  unsuspiciously  eating  her 
dinner.  The  little  woman,  attacked  on  a  sudden,  but 
never  without  arms,  lighted  up  in  an  instant,  parried 
and  riposted  with  a  home-thrust,  which  made  Wagg's 
face  tingle  with  shame;  then  she  returned  to  her  soup 
with  the  most  perfect  calm  and  a  quiet  smile  on  her  face. 
Wagg's  great  patron,  who  gave  him  dinners  and  lent 
him  a  little  money  sometimes,  and  w^hose  election,  news- 
paper, and  other  jobs  Wagg  did,  gave  the  luckless  fel- 
low such  a  savage  glance  with  the  eyes  as  almost  made 
him  sink  under  the  table  and  burst  into  tears.  He  looked 
piteously  at  my  lord,  who  never  spoke  to  him  during 
dinner,  and  at  the  ladies,  who  disowned  him.  At  last 
Beck}'  herself  took  compassion  upon  him,  and  tried  to 
engage  him  in  talk.  He  was  not  asked  to  dinner  again 
for  six  wrecks;  and  Fiche,  my  lord's  confidential  man, 
to  whom  Wagg  naturally  ])aid  a  good  deal  of  court,  was 
instructed  to  tell  him  that  if  he  ever  dared  to  say  a  rude 
thing  to  ]Mrs.  Crawley  again,  or  make  her  the  butt  of 
l)is  stupid  jokes,  JNIilor  would  put  every  one  of  his  notes 
of  hand  into  his  lawyer's  hands,  and  sell  him  up  without 
mercy.  Wagg  wept  before  Fiche,  and  implored  his 
dear  friend  to  intercede  for  him.  Tie  wrote  a  poem  in 
favour  of  ^Vlrs.  R.  C,  which  a])])eared  in  the  very  next 
1  lumber  of  the  "  Harumscarum  ^Magazine,"  which  he 
conducted.     He  implored  her  good  will  at  parties  where 


70  VANITY  FAIR 

he  met  her.  He  cringed  and  coaxed  Rawdon  at  the  club. 
He  was  allowed  to  come  back  to  Gamit  House  after  a 
while.  Becky  was  always  good  to  him,  always  amused, 
never  angry. 

His  lordship's  vizier  and  chief  confidential  servant 
(with  a  seat  in  parliament  and  at  the  dinner  table),  Mr. 
Wenham,  was  much  more  prudent  in  his  behaviour  and 
opinions  than  Mr.  Wagg.  However  much  he  might  be 
disposed  to  hate  all  parvenus  (]Mr.  Wenham  himself  was 
a  staunch  old  True  Blue  Tory,  and  his  father  a  small 
coal-merchant  in  the  north  of  England),  this  aide-de- 
camp of  the  Marquis  never  showed  any  sort  of  hostility 
to  the  new  favourite;  but  pursued  her  with  stealthy 
kindnesses,  and  a  sly  and  deferential  politeness,  which 
somehow  made  Becky  more  uneasy  than  other  people's 
overt  hostilities. 

How  the  Crawleys  got  the  money  which  was  spent 
upon  the  entertainments  with  which  they  treated  the 
polite  world  was  a  mystery  which  gave  rise  to  some  con- 
versation at  the  time,  and  probably  added  zest  to  these 
little  festivities.  Some  persons  averred  that  Sir  Pitt 
Crawley  gave  his  brother  a  handsome  allowance:  if  he 
did,  Becky's  power  over  the  Baronet  must  have  been 
extraordinary  indeed,  and  his  character  greatly  changed 
in  his  advanced  age.  Other  parties  hinted  that  it  was 
Becky's  habit  to  levy  contributions  on  all  her  husband's 
friends :  going  to  this  one  in  tears  with  an  account  that 
there  was  an  execution  in  the  house;  falling  on  her 
knees  to  that  one,  and  declaring  that  the  whole  family 
must  go  to  gaol  or  commit  suicide  unless  such  and  such 
a  bill  could  be  paid.  Lord  Southdown,  it  was  said,  had 
been  induced  to  give  many  hundreds  through  these  pa- 
thetic representations.     Young  Feltham,  of  the   — th 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO        71 

Dragoons  (and  son  of  the  firm  of  Tiler  and  Feltham, 
hatters  and  army  accoutrement  makers),  and  whom  the 
Crawleys  introduced  into  fashionable  life,  was  also  cited 
as  one  of  Becky's  victims  in  the  pecuniary  way.  People 
declared  that  she  got  money  from  various  simply  dis- 
posed persons,  under  pretence  of  getting  them  confi- 
dential appointments  under  government.  AVho  knows 
what  stories  were  or  were  not  told  of  our  dear  and  inno- 
cent friend?  Certain  it  is,  that  if  she  had  had  all  the 
money  which  she  was  said  to  have  begged  or  borrowed 
or  stolen,  she  might  have  capitalised  and  been  honest  for 
life,  whereas, — but  this  is  advancing  matters. 

The  truth  is,  that  by  economy  and  good  management 
— by  a  sparing  use  of  ready  money  and  by  paying 
scarcely  anybody, — people  can  manage,  for  a  time  at 
least,  to  make  a  great  show  with  very  little  means :  and 
it  is  our  belief  that  Becky's  much-talked-of  parties, 
which  were  not,  after  all  was  said,  very  numerous,  cost 
this  ladv  very  little  moi*e  than  the  wax  candles  which 
lighted  the  walls.  Stillbrook  and  Queen's  Crawley  sup- 
plied her  with  game  and  fruit  in  a])undance.  Lord 
Steyne's  cellars  were  at  her  disposal,  and  that  excellent 
nobleman's  famous  cooks  presided  over  her  little  kitchen, 
or  sent  by  my  lord's  order  the  rarest  delicacies  from  their 
own.  I  protest  it  is  (juite  shameful  in  the  world  to  abuse 
a  simple  creature,  as  people  of  her  time  abuse  Becky, 
and  I  warn  the  public  against  believing  one-tenth  of  the 
stories  against  her.  If  every  ])erson  is  to  be  banished 
from  society  who  runs  into  debt  and  cannot  ])ay — if  we 
are  to  be  })eering  into  everyl)ody's  ])rivate  life,  specu- 
lating upon  their  income,  and  cutting  them  if  we  don't 
approve  of  tlieir  expenditure — why,  what  a  howling  wil- 
derness and  intolerable  dwelling  Vanity  Fair  would  be. 


72  VANITY  FAIR 

Every  man's  hand  would  be  against  his  neighbour  in 
this  case,  my  dear  sir,  and  the  benefits  of  civiHsation 
would  be  done  awaj^  with.  We  should  be  quarrelling, 
abusing,  avoiding  one  another.  Our  houses  would  be- 
come caverns :  and  we  should  go  in  rags  because  we  cared 
for  nobody.  Rents  would  go  down.  Parties  wouldn't 
be  given  any  more.  All  the  tradesmen  of  the  town  would 
be  bankrupt.  Wine,  wax-lights,  comestibles,  rouge, 
crinoline-petticoats,  diamonds,  wigs,  Louis-Quatorze 
gimcracks,  and  old  china,  park  hacks,  and  splendid  high- 
stepping  carriage  horses — all  the  delights  of  life,  I  say, 
— would  go  to  the  deuce,  if  people  did  but  act  upon  their 
silly  principles,  and  avoid  those  whom  they  dislike  and 
abuse.  Whereas,  by  a  little  charity  and  mutual  forbear- 
ance, things  are  made  to  go  on  pleasantly  enough:  we 
maj^  abuse  a  man  as  much  as  we  like,  and  call  him  the 
greatest  rascal  unhung — but  do  we  wish  to  hang  him 
therefore?  No.  We  shake  hands  when  we  meet.  If  his 
cook  is  good  we  forgive  him,  and  go  and  dine  with  him ; 
and  we  expect  he  will  do  the  same  by  us.  Thus  trade 
flourishes — civilisation  advances:  peace  is  kept;  new 
dresses  are  wanted  for  new  assemblies  every  week ;  and 
the  last  year's  vintage  of  Lafitte  will  remunerate  the 
honest  proprietor  who  reared  it. 

At  the  time  whereof  we  are  writing,  though  the  Great 
George  was  on  the  throne  and  ladies  wore  gigots  and 
large  combs  like  tortoise-shell  shovels  in  their  hair,  in- 
stead of  the  simple  sleeves  and  lovely  wreaths  which  are 
actually  in  fashion,  the  manners  of  the  very  polite  world 
were  not,  I  take  it,  essentially  different  from  those  of 
the  present  day:  and  their  amusements  pretty  similar. 
To  us,  from  the  outside,  gazing  over  the  policeman's 
shoulders  at  the  bewildering  beauties  as  they  pass  into 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO        73 

Court  or  ball,  they  may  seem  beings  of  unearthly  splen- 
dour, and  in  the  enjoyment  of  an  exquisite  happiness  by 
us  unattainable.  It  is  to  console  some  of  these  dissatisfied 
beings,  that  we  are  narrating  our  dear  Becky's  struggles, 
and  trimuphs,  and  disappointments,  of  all  of  which,  in- 
deed, as  is  the  case  with  all  persons  of  merit,  she  had  her 
share. 

At  this  time  the  amiable  amusement  of  acting  charades 
had  come  among  us  from  France :  and  was  considerably 
in  vogue  in  this  country,  enabling  the  many  ladies 
amongst  us  who  had  beauty  to  display  their  charms,  and 
the  fewer  number  who  had  cleverness,  to  exhibit  their 
wit.  jNIv  Lord  Stevne  was  incited  by  Beckv,  who  per- 
haps  believed  herself  endowed  with  both  the  above  qual- 
ifications, to  give  an  entertainment  at  Gaunt  House, 
which  should  include  some  of  these  little  dramas— and 
we  must  take  leave  to  introduce  the  reader  to  this  bril- 
liant reunion,  and,  with  a  melancholy  welcome  too,  for  it 
will  be  among  the  very  last  of  the  fashionable  entertain- 
ments to  which  it  will  be  our  fortune  to  conduct  him. 

A  portion  of  that  splendid  room,  the  picture  gallery 
of  Gaunt  House,  was  arranged  as  the  charade  theatre. 
It  had  been  so  used  when  George  III.  was  king;  and  a 
picture  of  the  ^larquis  of  Gaunt  is  still  extant,  with  his 
hair  in  powder  and  a  pink  ribbon,  in  a  Roman  shape,  as 
it  was  called,  enacting  the  part  of  Cato  in  Mr.  Addison's 
tragedy  of  that  name,  performed  before  their  Royal 
Iliglinesses  the  Prince  of  Wales,  the  Bishop  of  Osna- 
burgh,  and  Prince  William  Henry,  then  children  like 
the  actor.  One  or  two  of  the  old  ])ro])erties  were  drawn 
out  of  the  garrets,  where  they  had  lain  ever  since,  and 
furbished  u])  anew  for  the  ])resent  festivities. 

Young  Bedwin  Sands,  then  an  elegant  dandy  and 


74  VANITY   FAIR 

Eastern  traveller,  was  manager  of  the  revels.  An  East- 
ern traveller  was  somebody  in  those  days,  and  the  adven- 
turous Bedwin,  who  had  published  his  quarto,  and  passed 
some  months  under  the  tents  in  the  desert,  was  a  person- 
age of  no  small  importance.  — In  his  volume  there  were 
several  pictures  of  Sands  in  various  oriental  costumes; 
and  he  travelled  about  with  a  black  attendant  of  most 
unprepossessing  appearance,  just  like  another  Brian  de 
Bois  Guilbert.  Bedwin,  his  costumes,  and  black  man, 
were  hailed  at  Gaunt  House  as  very  valuable  acquisi- 
tions. 

He  led  off  the  first  charade.  A  Turkish  officer  with 
an  immense  plume  of  feathers  (the  Janizaries  were  sup- 
posed to  be  still  in  existence,  and  the  tarboosh  had  not 
as  yet  displaced  the  ancient  and  majestic  head-dress  of 
the  true  believers),  was  seen  couched  on  a  divan,  and 
making  believe  to  puiF  at  a  narghile,  in  which,  however, 
for  the  sake  of  the  ladies,  only  a  fragrant  pastille  was 
allowed  to  smoke.  The  Turkish  dignitary  yawns  and 
expresses  signs  of  weariness  and  idleness.  He  claps 
his  hands  and  Mesrour  the  Nubian  appears,  with  bare 
arms,  bangles,  yataghans,  and  every  eastern  ornament 
— gaunt,  tall,  and  hideous.  He  makes  a  salaam  before 
my  lord  the  Aga. 

A  thrill  of  terror  and  delight  runs  through  the  assem- 
bly. The  ladies  whisper  to  one  another.  The  black  slave 
was  given  to  Bedwin  Sands  by  an  Egyptian  Pasha  in 
exchange  for  three  dozen  of  Maraschino.  He  has  sewn 
up  ever  so  many  odalisques  in  sacks  and  tilted  them  into 
the  Nile. 

"  Bid  the  slave-merchant  enter,"  says  the  Turkish 
voluptuary  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  Mesrour  conducts 
the  slave-merchant  into  my  lord's  presence:    he  brings 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO        75 

a  veiled  female  with  him.  Pie  removes  the  veil.  A  thrill 
of  applause  bursts  through  the  house.  It  is  JNIrs.  Wink- 
worth  (she  was  a  ]Miss  Absolom)  with  the  beautiful  eyes 
and  hair.  She  is  in  a  gorgeous  oriental  costume;  the 
black  braided  locks  ai'€  twined  with  innumerable  jewels; 
her  dress  is  covered  over  with  gold  piastres.  The  odious 
^Mahometan  expresses  himself  charmed  by  her  beauty. 
She  falls  down  on  her  knees,  and  entreats  him  to  restore 
her  to  the  mountains  where  she  was  born,  and  where  her 
Circassian  lover  is  still  deploring  the  absence  of  his  Zu- 
leikah.  Xo  entreaties  will  move  the  obdurate  Hassan. 
He  laughs  at  the  notion  of  the  Circassian  bridegroom. 
Zuleikah  covers  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  drops  down 
in  an  attitude  of  the  most  beautiful  despair.  There 
seems  to  be  no  hope  for  her,  when — when  the  Kislar 
Aga  appears. 

The  Kislar  Aga  brings  a  letter  from  the  Sultan. 
Hassan  receives  and  places  on  his  head  the  dread  firman. 
A  ghastly  terror  seizes  him,  while  on  the  negro's  face 
(it  is  Mesrour  again  in  another  costume)  appears  a 
ghastly  joy.  "  JNIercy!  mercy!  "  cries  the  Pasha:  while 
the  Kislar  Aga,  grinning  horribly,  pulls  out — a  bow- 
string. 

The  curtain  draws  just  as  he  is  going  to  use  that  awful 
weapon.  Hassan  from  within  bawls  out,  "  First  two 
syllables  " — and  JNIrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  who  is  going  to 
act  in  the  charade,  comes  forward  and  compliments  INIrs. 
Winkworth  on  the  admirable  taste  and  beauty  of  her 
costume. 

The  second  part  of  the  charade  takes  place.  It  is  still 
an  eastern  scene.  Hassan,  in  another  dress,  is  in  an  atti- 
tude by  Zuleikah,  who  is  ])erfectly  reconciled  to  liini. 
The  Kislar  Agii  has  become  a  peaceful  black  slave.     It 


76  VANITY    FAIR 

is  sunrise  on  the  desert,  and  the  Turks  turn  their  heads 
eastwards  and  bow  to  the  sand.  As  there  are  no  drome- 
daries at  hand,  the  band  facetiously  plays  "  The  Camels 
are  coming."'  An  enormous  Egyptian  head  figures  in 
the  scene.  It  is  a  musical  one, — and,  to  the  surprise  of 
the  oriental  travellers,  sings  a  comic  song,  composed  by 
Mr.  Wagg.  The  eastern  voyagers  go  off  dancing,  like 
Papageno  and  the  Moorish  King,  in  the  "  JNIagic  Flute." 
"  Last  two  syllables  "  roars  the  head. 

The  last  act  opens.  It  is  a  Grecian  tent  this  time.  A 
tall  and  stalwart  man  reposes  on  a  couch  there.  Above 
him  hang  his  helmet  and  shield.  There  is  no  need  for 
them  now.  Ilium  is  down.  Iphigenia  is  slain.  Cassan- 
dra is  a  prisoner  in  his  outer  halls.  The  king  of  men  (it 
is  Colonel  Crawley,  who,  indeed,  has  no  notion  about  the 
sack  of  Ilium  or  the  conquest  of  Cassandra),  the  anax 
andron  is  asleep  in  his  chamber  at  Argos.  A  lamp  casts 
tli^  broad  shadow  of  the  sleeping  warrior  flickering  on 
the  wall— the  sword  and  shield  of  Troy  glitter  in  its 
light.  The  band  plays  the  awful  music  of  Don  Juan, 
before  the  statue  enters. 

^gisthus  steals  in  pale  and  on  tiptoe.  What  is  that 
ghastly  face  looking  out  balef ully  after  him  from  behind 
the  arras?  He  raises  his  dagger  to  strike  the  sleeper, 
who  turns  in  his  bed,  and  opens  his  broad  chest  as  if  for 
the  blow.  He  cannot  strike  the  noble  slumbering  chief- 
tain. Clytemnestra  glides  swiftly  into  the  room  like  an 
apparition — her  arms  are  bare  and  white, — her  tawny 
hair  floats  down  her  shoulders,— her  face  is  deadly  pale, 
— and  her  eyes  are  lighted  up  with  a  smile  so  ghastly, 
that  people  quake  as  they  look  at  her. 

A  tremor  ran  through  the  room.  "  Good  God!  "  some- 
body said,  "  it's  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley." 


The  Triumph  of  Clytemnostra 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO        77 

Scornfully  she  snatches  the  dagger  out  of  ^gisthus's 
hand,  and  advances  to  the  bed.  You  see  it  shining  over 
her  head  in  the  glimmer  of  the  lamp,  and — and  the  lamp 
goes  out,  with  a  groan,  and  all  is  dark. 

The  darkness  and  the  scene  frightened  people.  Re- 
becca performed  her  part  so  well,  and  with  such  ghastly 
truth,  that  the  spectators  were  all  dumb,  until,  with  a 
burst,  all  the  lamps  of  the  hall  blazed  out  again,  when 
everybody  began  to  shout  applause.  "  Brava!  brava!  " 
old  Steyne's  strident  voice  was  heard  roaring  over  all 
the  rest.  "  By  — ,  she'd  do  it  too,"  he  said  between  his 
teeth.  The  performers  were  called  by  the  whole  house, 
which  sounded  with  cries  of  "  Manager!  Clytemnestra !  " 
AGAME^MXOX  could  not  be  got  to  show  in  his  classi- 
cal tunic,  but  stood  in  the  background  with  ^Egisthus 
and  others  of  the  performers  of  the  little  play.  ]Mr. 
Bedwin  Sands  led  on  Zuleikah  and  Clytemnestra.  A 
great  personage  insisted  on  being  presented  to  the  charm- 
ing Clytemnestra.  "  Heigh  ha?  Run  him  through  the 
body.  Marry  somebody  else,  hey? "  was  the  apposite 
remark  made  bv  His  Royal  Highness. 

"  ]Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley  was  quite  killing  in  the  part," 
said  Lord  Steyne.  Becky  laughed,  gay,  and  saucy 
looking,  and  swept  the  prettiest  little  curtsey  ever  seen. 

Servants  brouglit  in  salvers  covered  witli  numerous 
cool  dainties,  and  the  performers  disappeared  to  get 
ready  for  the  second  charade-tableau. 

The  three  syllables  of  this  charade  were  to  be  depicted 
in  ])ant()mime,  and  tlie  performance  took  place  in  the 
following  wise:  — 

First  svllal)le.  Colonel  Rawdon  Crawley,  C.  15.,  with 
a  slouclied  hat  and  a  staff,  a  great  coat,  and  a  lantern 


78  VANITY   FAIR 

borrowed  from  the  stables,  passed  across  the  stage  bawl- 
ing out,  as  if  warning  the  inliabitants  of  the  hour.  In 
the  lower  window  are  seen  two  bagmen  playing  appar- 
ently at  the  game  of  cribbage,  over  which  they  yawn 
much.  To  them  enters  one  looking  like  Boots,  (the 
Honourable  G.  Ringwood)  which  character  the  young- 
gentleman  performed  to  perfection,  and  divests  them 
of  their  lower  coverings;  and  presently  Chambermaid 
(the  Right  Honourable  Lord  Southdown)  with  two  can- 
dlesticks, and  a  warming-pan.  She  ascends  to  the  upper 
apartment,  and  warms  the  bed.  She  uses  the  warming- 
pan  as  a  weapon  wherewith  she  wards  off  the  attention 
of  the  bagmen.  She  exits.  They  put  on  their  night- 
caps, and  pull  down  the  blinds.  Boots  comes  out  and 
closes  the  shutters  of  the  ground-floor  chamber.  You 
hear  him  bolting  and  chaining  the  door  within.  All  tlif 
lights  go  out.  The  music  plays  Dormez,  dormez,  cliers 
Amours.  A  voice  from  behind  the  curtain  says,  "  First 
syllable." 

Second  syllable.  The  lamps  are  lighted  up  all  of  a 
sudden.  The  music  plays  the  old  air  from  John  of 
Paris,  Ah  quel  plaisir  d'etre  en  voyage.  It  is  the  same 
scene.  Between  the  first  and  second  floors  of  the  house 
represented,  you  behold  a  sign  on  which  the  Steyne  arms 
are  painted.  All  the  bells  are  ringing  all  over  the  house. 
In  the  lower  apartment  you  see  a  man  with  a  long  slip 
of  paper  presenting  it  to  another,  who  shakes  his  fist, 
threatens  and  vows  that  it  is  monstrous.  "  Ostler,  bring 
round  my  gig,"  cries  another  at  the  door.  He  chucks 
Chambermaid  (the  Right  Honourable  Lord  South- 
down) under  the  chin;  she  seems  to  deplore  his  absence, 
as  Calypso  did  that  of  that  other  eminent  traveller 
LTlysses.    Boots  (the  Honourable  G.  Ringwood)  passes 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO  79 

with  a  wooden  box,  containing  silver  flagons,  and  cries 
"  Pots  "  with  such  exquisite  humour  and  naturalness, 
that  the  whole  house  rings  with  applause,  and  a  bouquet 
is  thrown  to  him.  Crack,  crack,  crack,  go  the  whips. 
Landlord,  chambermaid,  waiter  rush  to  the  door;  but 
just  as  some  distinguished  guest  is  arriving,  the  curtains 
close,  and  the  invisible  theatrical  manager  cries  out  "  Sec- 
ond svllable." 

"  I  think  it  must  be  '  Hotel,'  "  says  Captain  Grigg 
of  the  Life  Guards:  there  is  a  g-eneral  laugh  at  the 
Captain's  cleverness.    He  is  not  very  far  from  the  mark. 

While  the  third  syllable  is  in  preparation,  the  band  be- 
gins a  nautical  medley — "All  in  the  Downs,"  "  Cease 
Rude  Boreas,"  "  Rule  Britannia,"  "  In  the  Bay  of  Bis- 
cay O!  " — some  maritime  event  is  about  to  take  place. 
A  bell  is  heard  ringing  as  the  curtain  draws  aside. 
"  Xovv,  gents,  for  the  shore!  "  a  voice  exclaims.  People 
take  leave  of  each  other.  They  point  anxiously  as  if 
towards  the  clouds,  which  are  represented  by  a  dark  cur- 
tain, and  they  nod  their  heads  in  fear.  Lady  Squeams 
( tlie  Right  Honourable  Lord  Southdown ) ,  her  lap-dog, 
her  bags,  reticules,  and  husband  sit  down,  and  cling  hold 
of  some  ropes.    It  is  evidently  a  ship. 

The  Captain  (Colonel  Crawley,  C.  B.),  with  a  cocked 
hat  and  a  telescope,  comes  in,  holding  his  hat  on  his  head, 
and  looks  out ;  his  coat  tails  fly  about  as  if  in  the  wind. 
When  he  leaves  go  of  his  hat  to  use  his  telescope,  his  hat 
flies  ofl",  with  immense  applause.  It  is  blowing  fresh. 
The  music  rises  and  whistles  louder  and  louder;  the 
mariners  go  across  the  stage  staggering,  as  if  the  shij) 
was  in  severe  motion.  The  Steward  (the  IIonoural)le 
G.  Ringwood)  passes  reeling  ])y,  holding  six  basins.  He 
puts  one  rapidly  ])y  I^ord   S(iucams — Lady  Squeams, 


80 


VANITY   FAIR 


giving  a  pinch  to  her  dog,  which  begins  to  howl  pite- 
ously,  puts  her  pocket-handkerchief  to  her  face,  and 
rushes  away  as  for  the  cabin.  The  music  rises  up  to  the 
wildest  pitch  of  stormy  excitement,  and  the  third  syllable 
is  concluded. 


There  was  a  little  ballet,  Le  Rossignol,  in  which  Mon- 
tessu  and  Noblet  used  to  be  famous  in  those  days,  and 
which  Mr.  Wagg  transferred  to  the  English  stage  as  an 
opera,  putting  his  verse,  of  which  he  was  a  skilful  writer, 
to  the  pretty  airs  of  the  ballet.  It  was  dressed  in  old 
French  costume,  and  little  Lord  Southdown  now  ap- 
peared admirably  attired  in  the  disguise  of  an  old  woman 
hobbling  about  the  stage  with  a  faultless  crooked  stick. 

Trills  of  melody  were  heard  behind  the  scenes,  and 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO         81 

gurgling  from  a  sweet  pasteboard  cottage  covered  with 
roses  and  trellis  work.  "  Philomele,  Philomele,"  cries 
the  old  woman,  and  Philomele  comes  out. 

]More  applause— it  is  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley  in  pow- 
der and  patches,  the  most  ravissante  little  JSIarquise  in 
the  world. 

She  comes  in  laughing,  humming,  and  frisks  about 
the  stage  with  all  the  innocence  of  theatrical  youth — she 
makes  a  curtsey.  Mamma  says  "  Why,  child,  you  are 
always  laughing  and  singing,"  and  away  she  goes, 
with — 

THE  ROSE  UPON   MY  BALCONY. 

The  rose  upon  my  balcony  the  morning  air  perfuming, 
Was  leafless  all  the  winter  time  and  pining  for  the  spring ; 
You  ask  me  why  her  breath  is  sweet  and  why  her  cheek  is 

blooming, 
It  is  because  the  sun  is  out  and  birds  begin  to  sing. 

The  nightingale,  whose  melody  is  through  the  greenwood 

ringing, 
Was  silent  when  the  boughs  were  bare  and  winds  were  blowing 

keen; 
And  if,  Mamma,  you  ask  of  me  the  reason  of  his  singing: 
It  is  because  the  sun  is  out  and  all  the  leaves  are  green. 

Thus  each  performs  his  part,  Manmia,  the  birds  have  found 

their  voices, 
The  blowing  rose  a  flush.  Mamma,  her  bonny  cheek  to  dye; 
And  there's  sunshine  in  my  heart,  Mamma,  which  wakens  and 

rejoices. 
And  so  I  sing  and  blush.  Mamma,  and  that's  the  reason  why. 

During  tlie  intervals  of  the  stanzas  of  this  ditty,  the 
go()d-natin*ed   personage  addressed  as  mamma  by  the 


82  VANITY   FAIR 

singer,  and  whose  large  whiskers  appeared  under  her 
cap,  seemed  very  anxious  to  exhibit  her  maternal  affec- 
tion by  embracing  the  innocent  creature  who  performed 
the  daughter's  part.  Every  caress  was  received  with 
loud  acclamations  of  laughter  by  the  sympathising  audi- 
ence. At  its  conclusion  ( while  the  music  was  performing 
a  symphony  as  if  ever  so  many  birds  were  warbling )  the 
whole  house  was  unanimous  for  an  encore:  and  ap- 
plause and  bouquets  without  end  were  showered  upon 
the  NIGHTINGALE  of  the  evening.  Lord  Steyne's  voice 
of  applause  was  loudest  of  all.  Becky,  the  nightingale, 
took  the  flowers  which  he  threw  to  her,  and  pressed  them 
to  her  heart  with  the  air  of  a  consummate  comedian. 
Lord  Steyne  was  frantic  with  delight.  His  guests'  en- 
thusiasm harmonised  with  his  own.  Where  was  the 
beautiful  black-eyed  Houri  whose  appearance  in  the 
first  charade  had  caused  such  delight!  She  was  twice 
as  handsome  as  Becky,  but  the  brilliancy  of  the  latter 
had  quite  eclipsed  her.  All  voices  were  for  her.  Ste- 
phens, Caradori,  Ronzi  de  Begnis,  people  compared  her 
to  one  or  the  other,  and  agreed  with  good  reason,  very 
likely,  that  had  she  been  an  actress  none  on  the  stage 
could  have  surpassed  her.  She  had  reached  her  culmina- 
tion :  her  voice  rose  trilling  and  bright  over  the  storm  of 
applause:  and  soared  as  high  and  joyful  as  her  triumph. 
There  was  a  ball  after  the  dramatic  entertainments, 
and  everybody  pressed  round  Becky  as  the  great  point 
of  attraction  of  the  evening.  The  Royal  Personage  de- 
clared with  an  oath,  that  she  was  perfection,  and  engaged 
her  again  and  again  in  conversation.  Little  Becky's 
soul  swelled  with  pride  and  delight  at  these  honours; 
she  saw  fortune,  fame,  fashion  before  her.  Lord  Steyne 
was  her  slave;    followed  her  everywhere,  and  scarcely 


A   XOYEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO         83 

spoke  to  any  one  in  the  room  beside;  and  paid  her  the 
most  marked  comphments  and  attention.  She  still  ap- 
peared in  her  JNIarquise  costmne,  and  danced  a  minuet 
with  Monsieur  de  Truffigny,  ]Monsieur  le  Due  de  la 
Jabotiere's  attache;  and  the  Duke,  who  had  all  the  tra- 
ditions of  the  ancient  court,  pronounced  that  JNIadame 
Crawley  was  worthy  to  have  been  a  pupil  of  Vestris,  or 
to  have  figured  at  Versailles.  Only  a  feeling  of  dignity, 
the  gout,  and  the  strongest  sense  of  duty  and  personal 
sacrifice,  prevented  his  Excellency  from  dancing  with 
her  himself ;  and  he  declared  in  public,  that  a  lady  who 
could  talk  and  dance  like  ^Irs.  Rawdon,  was  fit  to  be 
ambassadress  at  any  court  in  Europe.  He  was  only 
consoled  when  he  heard  that  she  was  half  a  French- 
woman by  birth.  "  None  but  a  compatriot,"  his  Excel- 
lency declared,  "  could  have  performed  tliat  majestic 
dance  in  such  a  way." 

Then  she  figiu'ed  in  a  waltz  with  jNlonsieur  de  Kling- 
enspohr,  the  Prince  of  Peterwaradin's  cousin  and  at- 
tache. The  delighted  Prince,  having  less  retenue  than 
his  French  diplomatic  colleague,  insisted  upon  taking  a 
turn  with  the  charming  creature,  and  twirled  round  the 
ball-room  with  her,  scattering  the  diamonds  out  of  his 
boot -tassels  and  hussar  jacket  until  his  Highness  was 
fairly  out  of  breath.  Papoosli  Pasha  liimself  would 
have  liked  to  dance  with  her  if  that  amusement  had  been 
the  custom  of  his  country.  Tlie  company  made  a  circle 
round  her,  and  ai)plauded  as  wildly  as  if  she  had  been  a 
Xoblet  or  a  Taglioni.  Everybody  was  in  ecstacy;  and 
Becky  too,  you  may  be  sure.  She  passed  by  Lady  Stun- 
nington  with  a  look  of  scorn.  She  patronised  Lady 
Gaunt  and  her  astonished  and  mortified  sister-in-law— 
slie  ccrasc'd  all  rival  chai-mers.    As  foi-  ])oor  ]Mrs.  Wink- 


84  VANITY   FAIR 

worth,  and  her  long  hair  and  great  eyes,  which  had  made 
such  an  effect  at  the  commencement  of  the  evening; 
where  was  she  now?  Nowhere  in  the  race.  She  might 
tear  her  long  hair  and  cry  her  great  eyes  out;  but 
there  was  not  a  person  to  heed  or  to  deplore  the  discom- 
fiture. 

The  greatest  triumph  of  all  was  at  supper  time.  She 
was  placed  at  the  grand  exclusive  table  with  his  Royal 
Highness  the  exalted  personage  before  mentioned,  and 
the  rest  of  the  great  guests.  She  was  served  on  gold 
plate.  She  might  have  had  pearls  melted  into  her  cham- 
pagne if  she  liked — another  Cleopatra;  and  the  poten- 
tate of  Peterwaradin  would  have  given  half  the  brilliants 
off  his  jacket  for  a  kind  glance  from  those  dazzling  eyes. 
Jabotiei'e  wrote  home  about  her  to  his  government.  The 
ladies  at  the  other  tables,  who  supped  off  mere  silver,  and 
marked  Lord  Steyne's  constant  attention  to  her,  vowed 
it  was  a  monstrous  infatuation,  a  gross  insult  to  ladies 
of  rank.  If  sarcasm  could  have  killed,  Lady  Stunning- 
ton  would  have  slain  her  on  the  spot. 

Rawdon ..Crawley  was  scared  at  these  triumphs.  They 
seemed  to  separate  his  wife  farther  than  ever  from  him 
somehow.  He  thought  with  a  feeling  very  like  pain  how 
immeasurably  she  was  his  superior. 

When  the  hour  of  departure  came,  a  crowd  of  young 
men  followed  her  to  her  carriage,  for  which  the  people 
without  bawled,  the  cry  being  caught  up  by  the  link -men 
who  were  stationed  outside  the  tall  gates  of  Gaunt 
House,  congratulating  each  person  who  issued  from  the 
gate  and  hoping  his  Lordship  had  enjoyed  this  noble 
party. 

Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  carriage,  coming  up  to  the 
gate  after  due  .shouting,  rattled  into  the  illuminated 
court-yard,  and  drove  up  to  the  covered  way.    Rawdon 


/'",/' 


ft  I  _-™--" — ----     llil 


il^_ 


/Ifs      .-.^T^^;, ',3 


k  mw^ 


Colonel  Crawley  is  -wanted 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO         85 

put  his  wife  into  the  carriage,  which  drove  off.  Mr. 
Wenham  had  proposed  to  him  to  walk  home,  and  offered 
the  Colonel  the  refreshment  of  a  cigar. 

They  lighted  their  cigars  hy  the  lamp  of  one  of  the 
many  link-hoys  outside,  and  Rawdon  walked  on  with 
his  friend  AVenham.  Two  persons  separated  from  the 
crowd  and  followed  the  two  gentlemen ;  and  when  they 
had  walked  down  Gaunt  Square  a  few  score  of  paces, 
one  of  the  men  came  up,  and  touching  Rawdon  on  the 
shoulder,  said,  "  Beg  your  pardon.  Colonel,  I  vish  to 
speak  to  j^ou  most  particular."  This  gentleman's  ac- 
quaintance gave  a  loud  whistle  as  the  latter  spoke,  at 
which  signal  a  cab  came  clattering  up  from  those  sta- 
tioned at  the  gate  of  Gaunt  House— and  the  aide-de- 
camp ran  round  and  j^laced  himself  in  front  of  Colonel 
Crawley. 

That  gallant  officer  at  once  knew  what  had  befallen 
him.  He  was  in  the  hands  of  the  bailiffs.  He  started 
back,  falling  against  the  man  who  had  first  touched  him. 

"  We're  three  on  us— it's  no  use  bolting,"  the  man  be- 
hind said. 

"It's  you.  Moss,  is  it?"  said  the  Colonel,  who  ap- 
peared to  know  his  interlocutor.    "  How  much  is  it?  " 

"  Only  a  small  thing,"  whispered  Mr.  Moss,  of 
Cursitor  Street,  Chancery  Lane,  and  assistant  officer  to 
the  Sheriff  of  ^liddlesex— "  One  hundred  and  sixty- 
six,  six  and  eightpence,  at  the  suit  of  Mr.  Nathan." 

"  Lend  me  a  hundred,  Wenham,  for  God's  sake," 
poor  Rawdon  said—"  I've  got  seventy  at  home." 

"  I've  not  got  ten  pounds  in  the  world,"  said  poor  ^Ir. 
Wenham  —  "  Good  niglit,  my  dear  fellow." 

"  Crood  nifif'ht,"  said  Rawdon  ruefully.  And  Wen- 
ham  walked  awav— and  Rawdon  Crawlev  finished  his 
ci^^ar  as  the  cab  drove  under  Teniplc  Wax. 


CHAPTER  LII 

IX  WHICH  LOKD  STEYNE  SHOWS  HIMSELF  IN  A 
MOST    AJVIIABLE    LIGHT 


HEX  Lord  Steyne 
was  benevolently  dis- 
posed, he  did  nothing 
b}^  halves,  and  his 
kindness  towards  the 
Crawley  family  did 
the  greatest  honour 
to  his  benevolent 
discrimination.  His 
lordship  extended  his 
good-will  to  little 
Rawdon:  he  pointed 
out  to  the  boy's  par- 
ents the  necessity  of  sending  him  to  a  public  school ;  that 
he  was  of  an  age  now  when  emulation,  the  first  princijijles 
of  the  Latin  Language,  pugilistic  exercises,  and  the  so- 
ciety of  his  fellow-boys  would  be  of  the  greatest  benefit 
to  the  boy.  His  father  objected  that  he  was  not  rich 
enough  to  send  the  child  to  a  good  public  school ;  his  mo- 
ther, that  Briggs  was  a  capital  mistress  for  him,  and 
had  brought  him  on  (as  indeed  was  the  fact)  famously 
in  English,  the  Latin  iiidiments,  and  in  general  learn- 
ing: but  all  these  objections  disappeared  before  the  gen- 
erous perseverance  of  the  INIarquis  of  Steyne.  His  lord- 
ship  was   one   of   the   governors   of   that   famous   old 

86 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO         87 

collegiate  institution  called  the  Whitefriars.  It  had  been 
a  Cistercian  Convent  in  old  days,  when  the  Smithfield, 
which  is  contiguous  to  it,  was  a  tournament  ground.  Ob- 
stinate heretics  used  to  be  brought  thither  convenient  for 
burning  hard  by.  Henry  VIII.,  the  Defender  of  the 
Faith,  seized  upon  the  monastery  and  its  possessions, 
and  hanged  and  tortured  some  of  the  monks  who  could 
not  accommodate  themselves  to  the  pace  of  his  reform. 
Finally,  a  great  merchant  bought  the  house  and  land  ad- 
joining, in  which,  and  with  the  help  of  other  wealthy 
endowments  of  land  and  money,  he  established  a  famous 
foundation  hospital  for  old  men  and  children.  An  ex- 
tern school  grew  round  the  old,  almost  monastic  founda- 
tion, which  subsists  still  with  its  middle-age  costume  and 
usages:  and  all  Cistercians  pray  that  it  may  long 
flourish. 

Of  this  famous  house,  some  of  the  greatest  noblemen, 
prelates,  and  dignitaries  in  England  are  governors :  and 
as  the  boys  are  very  comfortably  lodged,  fed,  and  edu- 
cated, and  subsequently  inducted  to  good  scholarships 
at  the  University  and  livings  in  the  Church,  many  little 
gentlemen  are  devoted  to  the  ecclesiastical  j^rofession 
from  their  tenderest  years,  and  there  is  considerable  emu- 
lation  to  procure  nominations  for  the  foundation.  It 
was  originally  intended  for  the  sons  of  poor  and  de- 
serving clerics  and  laics;  but  many  of  the  noble  gov- 
ernors of  the  Institution,  with  an  enlarged  and  rather 
capricious  benevolence,  selected  all  sorts  of  objects  for 
their  bounty.  To  get  an  education  for  nothing,  and  a 
futm-e  livelihood  and  profession  assured,  was  so  excel- 
lent a  scheme  that  some  of  the  richest  people  did  not 
disdain  it ;  and  not  only  great  men's  relations,  but  great 
men  themselves,  sent  their  sons  to  profit  by  the  chance 


88  VANITY   FAIR 

— Right  Rev.  Prelates  sent  their  own  kinsmen  or  the 
sons  of  their  clergy,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  some  great 
noblemen  did  not  disdain  to  patronise  the  children  of 
their  confidential  servants,  — so  that  a  lad  entering  this 
establishment  had  every  variety  of  youthful  society 
wherewith  to  mingle. 

Rawdon  Crawley,  though  the  only  book  which  he 
studied  was  the  Racing  Calendar,  and  though  his  chief 
recollections  of  polite  learning  were  connected  with  the 
floggings  which  he  received  at  Eton  in  his  early  youth, 
had  that  decent  and  honest  reverence  for  classical  learn- 
ing which  all  English  gentlemen  feel,  and  was  glad  to 
think  that  his  son  was  to  have  a  provision  for  life,  per- 
haps, and  a  certain  opportunity  of  becoming  a  scholar. 
And  although  his  boy  was  his  chief  solace  and  compan- 
ion, and  endeared  to  him  by  a  thousand  small  ties, 
about  which  he  did  not  care  to  speak  to  his  wife,  who 
had  all  along  shown  the  utmost  indifference  to  their 
son,  yet  Rawdon  agreed  at  once  to  part  with  him,  and  to 
give  up  his  own  greatest  comfort  and  benefit  for  the 
sake  of  the  welfare  of  the  little  lad.  He  did  not  kno^^' 
how  fond  he  was  of  the  child  until  it  became  necessary 
to  let  him  go  away.  When  he  was  gone,  he  felt  more 
sad  and  downcast  than  he  cared  to  own — far  sadder  than 
the  boy  himself,  who  was  happy  enough  to  enter  a  new 
career,  and  find  companions  of  his  own  age.  Becky 
burst  out  laughing  once  or  twice,  when  the  Colonel,  in 
his  clumsy,  incoherent  w^ay,  tried  to  express  his  senti- 
mental sorrows  at  the  boy's  departure.  The  poor  fellow 
felt  that  his  dearest  pleasure  and  closest  friend  was  taken 
from  him.  He  looked  often  and  wistfully  at  the  little 
vacant  bed  in  his  dressing-room  where  the  child  used  to 
sleep.     He  missed  him  sadly  of  mornings,  and  tried  in 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO  89 

vain  to  walk  in  the  Park  without  him.  He  did  not  know 
how  sohtarv  he  was  until  little  Rawdon  was  gone.  He 
liked  the  people  who  were  fond  of  him ;  and  would  go  and 
sit  for  long  hours  with  his  good-natured  sister  Lady 
Jane,  and  talk  to  her  about  the  virtues,  and  good  looks, 
and  hundred  good  qualities  of  the  child. 

Young  Rawdon 's  aimt,  we  have  said,  was  very  fond 
of  him,  as  was  her  little  girl,  who  wept  copiously  when 
the  time  for  her  cousin's  departure  came.  The  elder 
Rawdon  was  thankful  for  the  fondness  of  mother  and 
daughter.  The  very  best  and  honestest  feelings  of  the 
man  came  out  in  these  artless  outpourings  of  paternal 
feeling  in  which  he  indulged  in  their  presence,  and  en- 
covu'aged  by  their  sympathy.  He  secured  not  only  Lady 
Jane's  kindness,  but  her  sincere  regard,  by  the  feelings 
which  he  manifested,  and  which  he  could  not  show  to  his 
own  wife.  The  two  kinswomen  met  as  seldom  as  pos- 
sible. Becky  laughed  bitterly  at  Jane's  feelings  and 
softness;  the  other's  kindly  and  gentle  nature  could  not 
but  revolt  at  her  sister's  callous  behaviour. 

It  estranged  Rawdon  from  his  wife  more  than  he  knew 
or  acknowledged  to  himself.  She  did  not  care  for  the 
estrangement.  Indeed,  she  did  not  miss  him  or  anybody. 
She  looked  upon  him  as  her  errand-man  and  humble 
slave.  He  might  be  ever  so  depressed  or  sulky,  and  she 
did  not  mark  his  demeanour,  or  only  treated  it  with  a 
sneer.  She  was  busy  thinking  about  her  position,  or  her 
})leasures,  or  her  advancement  in  society;  she  ought  to 
have  held  a  great  place  in  it,  that  is  certain. 

It  was  honest  Briggs  who  made  up  the  little  kit  for 
tlie  boy  whicli  he  was  to  take  to  school.  Molly,  the  house- 
maid, blubbered  in  the  passage  when  he  went  away — 
Molly  kind  and  faithful  in  spite  of  a  long  arrear  of  un- 

VOL.  III. 


90  VANITY   FAIR 

paid  wages.  Mrs.  Becky  could  not  let  her  husband  have 
the  carriage  to  take  the  boy  to  school.  Take  the  horses 
into  the  City! — such  a  thing  was  never  heard  of.  Let  a 
cab  be  brought.  She  did  not  offer  to  kiss  him  when  he 
went:  nor  did  the  child  propose  to  embrace  her:  but 
gave  a  kiss  to  old  Briggs  (whom,  in  general,  he  was  very 
shy  of  caressing ) ,  and  consoled  her  by  pointing  out  that 
he  was  to  come  home  on  Saturdays,  when  she  would  have 
the  benefit  of  seeing  him.  As  the  cab  rolled  towards  the 
City,  Becky's  carriage  rattled  off  to  the  Park.  She  was 
chattering  and  laughing  with  a  score  of  young  dandies 
by  the  Serpentine,  as  the  father  and  son  entered  at  the 
old  gates  of  the  school — where  Rawdon  left  the  child, 
and  came  away  with  a  sadder  purer  feeling  in  his  heart 
than  perhaps  that  poor  battered  fellow  had  ever  known 
since  he  himself  came  out  of  the  nursery. 

He  walked  all  the  way  home  very  dismally,  and  dined 
alone  with  Briggs.  He  was  very  kind  to  her,  and  grate- 
ful for  her  love  and  watchfulness  over  the  boy.  His 
conscience  smote  him  that  he  had  borrowed  Briggs's 
money  and  aided  in  deceiving  her.  They  talked  about 
little  Rawdon  a  long  time,  for  Becky  onlj^  came  home 
to  dress  and  go  out  to  dinner — and  then  he  went  off  un- 
easily to  drink  tea  with  Ladv  Jane,  and  tell  her  of  what 
had  happened,  and  liow  little  Rawdon  went  off  like  a 
trump,  and  how  he  was  to  wear  a  gown  and  little  knee- 
breeches,  and  how  young  Blackball,  Jack  Blackball's 
son,  of  the  old  regiment,  had  taken  him  in  charge  and 
promised  to  be  kind  to  him. 

In  the  course  of  a  week,  young  Blackball  had  con- 
stituted little  Rawdon  his  fag,  shoe-black,  and  breakfast 
toaster;  initiated  him  into  the  mysteries  of  the  I^atin 
Grammar,  and  thrashed  him  three  or  four  times ;  but  not 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO 


91 


severely.  The  little  chap's  good-natured  honest  face  won 
his  way  for  him.  He  only  got  that  degree  of  beating 
which  was,  no  doubt,  good  for  him;  and  as  for  blacking 
shoes,  toasting  bread,  and  fagging  in  general,  were  these 


offices  not  deemed  to  be  necessary  parts  of  every  young 
Enghsh  gentleman's  education? 

Our  business  does  not  lie  with  the  second  generation 
and  Master  Rawdon's  life  at  scliool,  otherwise  the  pres- 
ent tale  might  be  carried  to  any  indefinite  length.  The 
Crjlonel  went  to  see  his  son  a  short  time  afterwards,  and 


92  VANITY    FAIR 

found  the  lad  sufficiently  well  and  happy,  grinning  and 
laughing  in  his  little  black  gown  and  little  breeches. 

His  father  sagaciously  tipped  Blackball,  his  master, 
a  sovereign,  and  secured  that  young  gentleman's  good 
will  towards  his  fag.  As  a  protege  of  the  great  Lord 
Steyne,  the  nephew  of  a  County  member,  and  son  of  a 
Colonel  and  C.B.,  whose  name  apj^eared  in  some  of  the 
most  fashionable  parties  in  the  Morning  Post,  jjerhaps 
the  school  authorities  were  disposed  not  to  look  unkindly 
on  the  child.  He  had  plenty  of  pocket-money,  which  he 
spent  in  treating  his  comrades  royally  to  raspberry 
tarts,  and  he  was  often  allowed  to  come  home  on  Satur- 
days to  his  father,  who  always  made  a  jubilee  of  that 
day.  When  free,  Rawdon  would  take  him  to  the  play, 
or  send  him  thither  with  the  footman;  and  on  Sundays 
he  went  to  church  with  Briggs  and  Lady  Jane  and  his 
cousins.  Rawdon  marvelled  over  his  stories  about 
school,  and  fights,  and  fagging.  Before  long,  he  knew 
the  names  of  all  the  masters  and  the  principal  boys  as 
well  as  little  Rawdon  himself.  He  invited  little  Raw- 
don's  crony  from  school,  and  made  both  the  children  sick 
with  pastry,  and  oysters,  and  porter  after  the  play.  He 
tried  to  look  knowing  over  the  Latin  grammar  when 
little  Rawdon  showed  him  what  part  of  that  work  he 
was  "  in."  "  Stick  to  it,  my  boy,"  he  said  to  him  with 
much  gravity,  "  there's  nothing  like  a  good  classical  edu- 
cation! nothing! " 

Becky's  contempt  for  her  husband  grew  greater  every 
day.  "  Do  what  you  like, — dine  where  you  please, — 
go  and  have  ginger-beer  and  sawdust  at  Astley's,  or 
psalm-singing  with  Lady  Jane, — only  don't  expect  me 
to  busy  myself  with  the  boy.  I  have  your  interests  to 
attend  to,  as  you  can't  attend  to  them  yourself.    I  should 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO         93 

like  to  know  where  you  would  have  been  now,  and  in 
what  sort  of  a  position  in  society,  if  I  had  not  looked 
after  you?  "  Indeed,  nobody  wanted  poor  old  Rawdon 
at  the  parties  whither  Becky  used  to  go.  She  was  often 
asked  without  him  now.  She  talked  about  great  people 
as  if  she  had  the  fee-simple  of  May  Fair ;  and  when  the 
Court  went  into  mourning,  she  always  wore  black. 

Little  Rawdon  being  disposed  of,  Lord  Steyne,  who 
took  such  a  parental  interest  in  the  affairs  of  this  ami- 
able poor  family,  thought  that  their  expenses  might  be 
very  advantageously  curtailed  by  the  departure  of  Miss 
Briggs;  and  that  Becky  was  quite  clever  enough  to  take 
the  management  of  her  own  house.  It  has  been  nar- 
rated in  a  former  chapter,  how  the  benevolent  nobleman 
had  given  his  protegee  money  to  pay  off  her  little  debt  to 
Miss  Briggs,  who  however  still  remained  behind  with 
her  friends;  whence  my  lord  came  to  the  painful  con- 
clusion that  Mrs.  Crawley  had  made  some  other  use  of 
the  money  confided  to  her  than  that  for  which  her  gen- 
erous patron  had  given  the  loan.  However,  Lord 
Steyne  was  not  so  rude  as  to  impart  his  suspicions  upon 
this  head  to  Mrs.  Becky,  whose  feelings  might  be  hurt 
by  any  controversy  on  the  money-question,  and  who 
might  have  a  thousand  painful  reasons  for  disposing 
otherwise  of  his  lordship's  generous  loan.  But  he  deter- 
mined to  satisfy  himself  of  the  real  state  of  the  case:  and 
instituted  the  necessary  inquiries  in  a  most  cautious  and 
delicate  manner. 

In  the  first  place  he  took  an  early  opportunity  of 
pumping  Miss  Briggs.  That  was  not  a  difficult  oper- 
ation. A  very  little  encouragement  would  set  that 
worthy  woman  to  talk  volubly,  and  pour  out  all  within 


94  VANITY    FAIR 

her.  And  one  day  when  Mrs.  Rawdon  had  gone  out  to 
drive  (as  ]Mr.  Fiche,  his  lordship's  confidential  servant, 
easily  learned  at  the  livery  stables  where  the  Crawleys 
kept  their  carriage  and  horses,  or  rather,  where  the  liv- 
ery-man kept  a  carriage  and  horses  for  jNIr.  and  Mrs. 
Crawley)  — my  lord  dropped  in  upon  the  Curzon  Street 
house — asked  Briggs  for  a  cup  of  coffee — told  her  that 
he  had  good  accounts  of  the  little  boy  at  school — and  in 
five  minutes  found  out  from  her  that  Mrs.  Rawdon  had 
given  her  nothing  except  a  black  silk  gown,  for  which 
Miss  Briggs  was  immensely  grateful. 

He  laughed  within  himself  at  this  artless  story.  For 
the  truth  is,  our  dear  friend  Rebecca  had  given  him  a  most 
circumstantial  narration  of  Briggs's  delight  at  receiving 
her  money— eleven  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds 
— and  in  what  securities  she  had  invested  it;  and  what  a 
pang  Becky  herself  felt  in  being  obliged  to  pay  away 
such  a  delightful  sum  of  money.  "  Who  knows," 
the  dear  woman  may  have  thought  within  herself, 
"perhaps  he  may  give  me  a  little  more?"  My  lord, 
however,  made  no  such  proposal  to  the  little  schemer — 
very  likely  thinking  that  he  had  been  sufficiently  gen- 
erous already. 

He  had  the  curiosity,  then,  to  ask  Miss  Briggs  about 
the  state  of  her  private  affairs — and  she  told  his  lord- 
ship candidly  what  her  position  was — how  Miss  Craw- 
ley had  left  her  a  legacy— how  her  relatives  had  had  part 
of  it— how  Colonel  Crawley  had  put  out  another  portion 
for  which  she  had  the  best  security  and  interest— and 
how  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rawdon  had  kindly  busied  themselves 
with  Sir  Pitt,  who  was  to  dispose  of  the  remainder  most 
advantageously  for  her,  when  he  had  time.  My  lord 
asked  liow  much  the  Colonel  had  alreadv  invested  for 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO        95 

her,  and  JMiss  Briggs  at  once  and  truly  told  him  that 
the  suni  was  six  hundred  and  odd  pounds. 

But  as  soon  as  she  had  told  her  story,  the  voluble 
Briggs  repented  of  her  frankness,  and  besought  my  lord 
not  to  tell  iVIr.  Crawley  of  the  confessions  which  she  had 
made.  "  The  Colonel  was  so  kind — Mr.  Crawley  might 
be  offended  and  pay  back  the  money,  for  which  she 
could  get  no  such  good  interest  anj^where  else."  Lord 
Steyne,  laughing,  promised  he  never  would  divulge  their 
conversation,  and  when  he  and  Miss  Briggs  parted  he 
laughed  still  more. 

"What  an  accomplished  little  devil  it  is!"  thought 
he.  "  What  a  splendid  actress  and  manager!  She  had 
almost  got  a  second  supply  out  of  me  the  other  day, 
with  her  coaxing  ways.  She  beats  all  the  women  I  have 
ever  seen  in  the  course  of  all  my  well-spent  life.  They 
are  babies  compared  to  her.  I  am  a  green-horn  myself, 
and  a  fool  in  her  hands — an  old  fool.  She  is  unsurpass- 
able in  lies."  His  lordship's  admiration  for  Becky  rose 
immeasurably  at  this  proof  of  her  cleverness.  Getting 
the  money  was  nothing— but  getting  double  the  sum  she 
Minted,  and  paying  nobody — it  was  a  magnificent 
stroke.  And  Crawley,  my  lord  thought— Crawlej^  is  not 
such  a  fool  as  he  looks  and  seems.  He  has  managed  the 
matter  cleverly  enough  on  his  side.  Nobody  would  ever 
have  supposed  from  his  face  and  demeanour  that  he 
knew  anything  about  this  money  business;  and  yet  he 
put  her  up  to  it,  and  has  spent  the  money,  no  doubt.  In 
this  opinion  my  lord,  we  know,  was  mistaken ;  but  it  in- 
fluenced a  good  deal  his  behaviour  towai-ds  Colonel 
Crawley,  whom  he  began  to  treat  with  even  less  than 
that  semblance  of  respect  which  he  had  formerly  sliown 
towards  tliat  gentleman.    It  never  entered  into  the  Iiead 


96  VANITY    FAIR 

of  Mrs.  Crawley's  patron  that  the  little  lady  might  be 
making  a  purse  for  herself;  and,  perhaps,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  he  judged  of  Colonel  Crawley  by  his  ex- 
perience of  other  husbands,  whom  he  had  known  in  the 
course  of  the  long  and  well-spent  life  which  had  made 
him  acquainted  with  a  great  deal  of  the  weakness  of 
mankind.  My  lord  had  bought  so  many  men  during  his 
life,  that  he  was  surely  to  be  pardoned  for  supposing 
that  he  had  found  the  price  of  this  one. 

He  taxed  Becky  upon  the  point  on  the  very  first  oc- 
casion when  he  met  her  alone,  and  he  complimented  her, 
good-humouredly,  on  her  cleverness  in  getting  more 
than  the  money  which  she  required.  Becky  was  only  a 
little  taken  aback.  It  was  not  the  habit  of  this  dear  crea- 
ture to  tell  falsehoods,  except  when  necessity  compelled, 
but  in  these  great  emergencies  it  was  her  practice  to  lie 
very  freely ;  and  in  an  instant  she  was  ready  with  another 
neat  plausible  circumstantial  story  which  she  adminis- 
tered to  her  patron.  The  previous  statement  which  she 
had  made  to  him  was  a  falsehood — a  wicked  falsehood : 
she  owned  it;  but  who  had  made  her  tell  it?  "  Ah,  my 
Lord,"  she  said,  "  you  don't  know  all  I  have  to  suffer  and 
bear  in  silence :  you  see  me  gay  and  happy  before  you — 
you  little  know  what  I  have  to  endure  when  there  is  no 
protector  near  me.  It  was  my  husband,  by  threats  and 
the  most  savage  treatment,  forced  me  to  ask  for  that 
sum  about  which  I  deceived  you.  It  was  he,  who,  fore- 
seeing that  questions  might  be  asked  regarding  the  dis- 
posal of  the  money,  forced  me  to  account  for  it  as  I  did. 
He  took  the  money.  He  told  me  he  had  paid  Miss 
Briggs;  I  did  not  want,  I  did  not  dare  to  doubt  him. 
Pardon  the  wrong  which  a  desperate  man  is  forced  to 
commit,  and  pity  a  miserable,  miserable  woman."     She 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO        97 

burst  into  tears  as  she  spoke.     Persecuted  virtue  never 
looked  more  bewitchingly  wretched. 

They  had  a  long  conversation,  driving  round  and 
round  the  Regent's  Park  in  Mrs.  Crawley's  carriage  to- 
gether, a  conversation  of  which  it  is  not  necessary  to 
repeat  the  details:  but  the  upshot  of  it  was,  that,  when 
Becky  came  home,  she  flew  to  her  dear  Briggs  with  a 
smiling  face,  and  announced  that  she  had  some  veiy 
good  news  for  her.  Lord  Steyne  had  acted  in  the  no- 
blest and  most  generous  manner.  He  was  always  think- 
ing how  and  when  he  could  do  good.  Now  that  little 
Rawdon  was  gone  to  school,  a  dear  companion  and 
friend  was  no  longer  necessary  to  her.  She  was  grieved 
beyond  measure  to  part  with  Briggs;  but  her  means  re- 
(juired  that  she  should  practise  every  retrenchment,  and 
her  sorrow  was  mitigated  by  the  idea  that  her  dear 
Briggs  would  be  far  better  provided  for  by  her  gener- 
ous patron  than  in  her  humble  home.  Mrs.  Pilkington, 
the  housekeeper  at  Gauntly  Hall,  was  growing  exceed- 
ingly old,  feeble,  and  rheumatic:  she  was  not  equal  to 
the  work  of  superintending  that  vast  mansion,  and  must 
be  on  the  look  out  for  a  successor.  It  was  a  splendid  po- 
sition. The  family  did  not  go  to  Gauntly  once  in  two 
years.  At  other  times  the  housekeeper  was  the  mis- 
tress of  the  magnificent  mansion  — had  four  covers  dailv 
for  her  table;  was  visited  by  the  clergy  and  the  most 
respectable  people  of  the  county — was  the  lady  of 
Gauntly,  in  fact;  and  the  two  last  housekeepers  before 
Mrs.  Pilkington  had  married  rectors  of  Gauntly:  but 
Mrs.  P.  coidd  not,  being  tlie  aunt  of  the  present  Rec- 
tor. The  place  was  not  to  l)e  hers  yet;  but  she  might 
go  down  on  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Pilkington,  and  see  whether 
she  would  like  to  succeed  her. 


98  VANITY  FAIR 

What  words  can  paint  the  ecstatic  gratitude  of 
Briggs!  All  she  stipulated  for  was  that  little  Rawdon 
should  be  allowed  to  come  down  and  see  her  at  the  Hall. 
Becky  promised  this — anything.  She  ran  up  to  her  hus- 
band when  he  came  home,  and  told  him  the  joyful  news. 
Rawdon  was  glad,  deuced  glad;  the  weight  was  off  his 
conscience  about  poor  Briggs's  money.  She  was  pro- 
vided for,  at  any  rate,  but — but  his  mind  was  disquiet. 
He  did  not  seem  to  be  all  right  somehow.  He  told 
little  Southdown  what  Lord  Steyne  had  done,  and  the 
young  man  eyed  Crawley  with  an  air  which  surprised 
the  latter. 

He  told  Lady  Jane  of  this  second  proof  of  Steyne's 
bounty,  and  she,  too,  looked  odd  and  alarmed;  so  did 
Sir  Pitt.  "  She  is  too  clever  and — and  gay  to  be  allowed 
to  go  from  party  to  party  without  a  companion,"  both 
said.  "  You  must  go  with  her,  Rawdon,  wherever  she 
goes,  and  you  must  have  somebody  with  her — one  of  the 
girls  from  Queen's  Crawley,  perhaps,  though  they  were 
rather  giddy  guardians  for  her." 

Somebody  Becky  should  have.  But  in  the  meantime 
it  was  clear  that  honest  Briggs  must  not  lose  her  chance 
of  settlement  for  life;  and  so  she  and  her  bags  were 
packed,  and  she  set  off  on  her  journey.  And  so  two  of 
Rawdon's  out-sentinels  were  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

Sir  Pitt  went  and  expostulated  with  his  sister-in-law 
upon  the  subject  of  the  dismissal  of  Briggs,  and  other 
matters  of  delicate  family  interest.  In  vain  she  pointed 
out  to  him  how  necessary  was  the  protection  of  Lord 
Steyne  for  her  poor  husband;  how  cruel  it  would  be  on 
their  part  to  deprive  Briggs  of  the  position  offered  to 
her.  Cajolements,  coaxings,  smiles,  tears  could  not  sat- 
isfy Sir  Pitt,  and  he  had  something  very  like  a  quarrel 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO         99 

with  his  once  admired  Becky.  He  spoke  of  the  honour 
of  the  family :  the  iinsulHed  reputation  of  the  Crawleys ; 
expressed  himself  in  indignant  tones  about  her  receiv- 
ing those  young  Frenchmen — those  wild  young  men  of 
fashion,  my  Lord  Steyne  himself,  whose  carriage  was 
always  at  her  door,  who  passed  hours  daily  in  her  com- 
pany, and  whose  constant  presence  made  the  world  talk 
about  her.  As  the  head  of  the  house  he  implored  her 
to  be  more  prudent.  Society  was  already  speaking 
lightly  of  her.  Lord  Steyne,  though  a  nobleman  of  the 
greatest  station  and  talents,  was  a  man  whose  attentions 
would  compromise  any  woman;  he  besought,  he  im- 
plored, he  commanded  his  sister-in-law  to  be  watchful 
in  her  intercourse  with  that  nobleman. 

Becky  promised  anything  and  everything  Pitt 
wanted;  but  Lord  Steyne  came  to  her  house  as  often 
as  ever,  and  Sir  Pitt's  anger  increased.  I  wonder  was 
Lady  Jane  angry  or  pleased  that  her  husband  at  last 
found  fault  with  his  favourite  Rebecca?  Lord  Steyne's 
visits  continuing,  his  own  ceased;  and  his  wife  was  for 
refusing  all  further  intercourse  with  that  nobleman,  and 
declining  the  invitation  to  the  Charade-night  which  the 
Marchioness  sent  to  her;  but  Sir  Pitt  thought  it  was 
necessary  to  accept  it  as  his  Roj'^al  Highness  would  be 
there. 

Although  he  went  to  the  party  in  (juestion.  Sir  Pitt 
quitted  it  very  early,  and  his  wife,  too,  was  very  glad  to 
come  away.  Becky  hardly  so  much  as  spoke  to  him  or 
noticed  her  sister-in-law.  Pitt  Crawley  declared  her  be- 
haviour was  monstrously  indecorous,  reprobated  in 
strong  terms  the  habit  of  play-acting  and  fancy  dress- 
ing, as  highly  unbecoming  a  British  female;  and  after 
the  charades  were  over,  took  his  brother  Rawdon  se- 


100  VANITY  FAIR 

verely  to  task  for  appearing  himself,  and  allowing  his 
wife  to  join  in  such  improper  exhibitions. 

Rawdon  said  she  should  not  join  in  any  more  such 
amusements;  but  indeed,  and  perhaps  from  hints  from 
his  elder  brother  and  sister,  he  had  already  become  a 
very  watchful  and  exemplary  domestic  character.  He 
left  off  his  clubs  and  billiards.  He  never  left  home. 
He  took  Becky  out  to  drive:  he  went  laboriously  with 
her  to  all  her  parties.  Whenever  my  Lord  Steyne 
called,  he  was  sure  to  find  the  Colonel.  And  when  Becky 
proposed  to  go  out  without  her  husband,  or  received 
invitations  for  herself,  he  peremptorily  ordered  her  to  re- 
fuse them;  and  there  was  that  in  the  gentleman's  man- 
ner which  enforced  obedience.  Little  Becky,  to  do  her 
justice,  was  charmed  with  Rawdon's  gallantry.  If  he 
was  surly,  she  never  was.  Whether  friends  were  present 
or  absent,  she  had  always  a  kind  smile  for  him,  and  was 
attentive  to  his  pleasure  and  comfort.  It  was  the  early 
days  of  their  marriage  over  again:  the  same  good  hu- 
mour, prevenances,  merriment,  and  artless  confidence 
and  regard.  "  How  much  pleasanter  it  is,"  she  would 
say,  "  to  have  you  by  my  side  in  the  carriage  than  that 
foolish  old  Briggs!  Let  us  always  go  on  so,  dear  Raw- 
don. How  nice  it  would  be,  and  how  happy  we  should 
always  be,  if  we  had  but  the  money!  "  He  fell  asleep 
after  dinner  in  his  chair ;  he  did  not  see  the  face  opposite 
to  him,  haggard,  weary,  and  terrible ;  it  lighted  up  with 
fresh  candid  smiles  when  he  woke.  It  kissed  him  gaily. 
He  wondered  that  he  had  ever  had  suspicions.  No,  he 
never  had  suspicions;  all  those  dumb  doubts  and  surly 
misgivings  which  had  been  gathering  on  his  mind  were 
mere  idle  jealousies.  She  was  fond  of  him,  she  always 
had  been.    As  for  her  shining  in  society  it  was  no  fault 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO       101 

of  hers ;  she  was  formed  to  shine  there.  Was  there  any 
woman  who  could  talk,  or  sing,  or  do  anything  like  her? 
If  she  would  but  like  the  boy!  Rawdon  thought.  But 
the  mother  and  son  never  could  be  brought  together. 

And  it  was  while  Rawdon's  mind  was  agitated  with 
these  doubts  and  perplexities  that  the  incident  occurred 
which  was  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter ;  and  the  unfor- 
tunate Colonel  found  himself  a  prisoner  away  from 
home. 


CHAPTER  LIII 


A  RESCUE  AND  A  CATASTROPHE 

RIEND  RAW- 
DON  drove  on 
then  to  Mr. 
Moss's  man- 
sion in  Cursitor 
Street,  and  was 
duly  inducted 
into  that  dismal 
place  of  hospi- 
tality. Morn- 
ing was  break- 
ing over  the 
cheerful  house-tops  of  Chancery  Lane  as  the  rattling 
cab  woke  up  the  echoes  there.  A  little  pink-eyed  Jew- 
boy,  with  a  head  as  ruddy  as  the  rising  morn,  let  the 
party  into  the  house,  and  Rawdon  was  welcomed  to 
the  ground-floor  apartments  by  Mr.  Moss,  his  travel- 
ling companion  and  host,  who  cheerfully  asked  him  if 
he  would  like  a  glass  of  something  warm  after  his 
drive. 

The  Colonel  was  not  so  depressed  as  some  mortals 
would  be,  who,  quitting  a  palace  and  a  jdacens  uxor, 
find  themselves  barred  into  a  spunging-house,  for,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  he  had  been  a  lodger  at  Mr.  Moss's 
establishment    once    or   twice    before.      We    have    not 

102 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO       103 

thought  it  necessary  in  the  previous  course  of  this  narra- 
tive to  mention  these  trivial  Httle  domestic  incidents: 
but  the  reader  may  be  assured  that  they  can't  unfre- 
quently  occur  in  the  hfe  of  a  man  who  lives  on  nothing 
a-year. 

Upon  his  first  visit  to  ]Mr.  ^loss,  the  Colonel,  then  a 
bachelor,  had  been  liberated  by  the  generosity  of  his 
Aunt;  on  the  second  mishap,  little  Becky,  with  the 
greatest  spirit  and  kindness,  had  borrowed  a  sum  of 
money  from  Lord  Southdown,  and  had  coaxed  her  hus- 
band's creditor  (who  was  her  shawl,  velvet-gown,  lace 
pocket-handkerchief,  trinket,  and  gimcrack  purveyor, 
indeed )  to  take  a  portion  of  the  sum  claimed,  and  Raw- 
don's  promissory  note  for  the  remainder :  so  on  both  these 
occasions  the  capture  and  release  had  been  conducted 
with  the  utmost  gallantry  on  all  sides,  and  iSloss  and  the 
Colonel  were  therefore  on  the  very  best  of  terms. 

"  You'll  find  your  old  bed,  Colonel,  and  everything 
comfortable,"  that  gentleman  said,  "  as  I  may  honestly 
say.  You  may  be  pretty  sure  it's  kep'  aired,  and  by  the 
best  of  compan3%  too.  It  was  slep'  in  the  night  afore 
last  by  the  Honorable  Capting  Famish,  of  the  Fiftieth 
Dragoons,  whose  jNIar  took  him  out,  after  a  fortnight, 
jest  to  punish  him,  she  said.  But,  Law  bless  you,  I 
promise  you,  he  punished  my  champagne,  and  had  a 
party  'ere  every  night — reg'lar  tip-top  swells,  down  from 
the  clubs  and  the  West  End  — Capting  Ragg,  the  Hon- 
orable Deuceace,  who  lives  in  the  Temple,  and  some 
fellers  as  knows  a  good  glass  of  wine,  I  warrant  you. 
I've  got  a  Doctor  of  Diwinity  up  stairs,  five  gents  in  the 
Coffee-room,  and  Mrs.  INIoss  has  a  tably-dy-hoty  at 
half-past  five,  and  a  little  cai'ds  or  music  afterwards, 
when  we  shall  be  most  happy  to  see  you." 


104  VANITY    FAIR 

"  I'll  ring  when  I  want  anything,"  said  Rawdon,  and 
went  quietly  to  his  bed-room.  He  was  an  old  soldier, 
we  have  said,  and  not  to  be  disturbed  by  any  little  shocks 
of  fate.  A  weaker  man  would  have  sent  off  a  letter  to 
his  wife  on  the  instant  of  his  capture.  "  But  what  is 
the  use  of  disturbing  her  night's  rest?  "  thought  Rawdon. 
"  She  won't  know  whether  I  am  in  mv  room  or  not.  It 
will  be  time  enough  to  write  to  her  when  she  has  had 
her  sleep  out,  and  I  have  had  mine.  It's  only  a  hundi-ed- 
and-seventv,  and  the  deuce  is  in  it  if  we  can't  raise  that." 
And  so,  thinking  about  little  Rawdon  (whom  he  would 
not  have  know  that  he  was  in  such  a  queer  place ) ,  the 
Colonel  turned  into  the  bed  lately  occupied  by  Captain 
Famish,  and  fell  asleep.  It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he 
woke  up,  and  the  ruddy-headed  youth  brought  him,  with 
conscious  pride,  a  fine  silver  dressing-case,  wherewith  he 
might  perform  the  operation  of  shaving.  Indeed  Mr. 
Moss's  house,  though  somewhat  dirty,  was  splendid 
throughout.  There  were  dirty  trays,  and  wine-coolers 
en  'permanence  on  the  sideboard,  huge  dirty  gilt  cor- 
nices, with  dingy  yellow  satin  hangings  to  the  barred 
windows  which  looked  into  Cursitor  Street — vast  and 
dirty  gilt  picture-frames  surrounding  pieces  sporting 
and  sacred,  all  of  which  works  were  by  the  greatest  mas- 
ters; and  fetched  the  greatest  prices,  too,  in  the  bill 
transactions,  in  the  course  of  which  they  were  sold  and 
bought  over  and  over  again.  The  Colonel's  breakfast 
was  served  to  him  in  the  same  dingy  and  gorgeous  plated 
ware.  Miss  Moss,  a  dark-eyed  maid  in  curl  papers,  ap- 
peared with  the  teapot,  and,  smiling,  asked  the  Colonel 
how  he  had  slep'?  and  she  brought  him  in  the  Morning 
Post,  with  the  names  of  all  the  great  people  who  had 
figured  at  Lord  Steyne's  entertainment  the  night  before. 
It  contained  a  brilliant  account  of  the  festivities,  and  of 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO       105 

the  beautiful  and  accomplished  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's 
admirable  personifications. 

After  a  lively  chat  with  this  lady  (who  sat  on  the  edge 
of  the  breakfast  table  in  an  easy  attitude  displaying  the 
drapery  of  her  stocking  and  an  ex-white  satin  shoe, 
which  was  down  at  heel),  Colonel  Crawley  called  for 
pens  and  ink,  and  paper;  and  being  asked  how  many 
sheets,  chose  one  which  was  brought  to  him  between  Miss 
JNIoss's  own  finger  and  thumb.  Many  a  sheet  had  that 
dark-eyed  damsel  brought  in.;  many  a  poor  fellow  had 
scrawled  and  blotted  hurried  lines  of  entreaty,  and  paced 
up  and  down  that  awful  room  until  his  messenger 
brought  back  the  reply.  Poor  men  always  use  messen- 
gers instead  of  the  post.  Who  has  not  had  their  letters, 
with  the  wafers  wet,  and  the  announcement  that  a  per- 
son is  waiting  in  the  hall? 

Now  on  the  score  of  his  application,  Rawdon  had  not 
many  misgivings. 

"  Dear  Becky,"  (Rawdon  wrote,) 

"  /  hope  you  slept  well.  Don't  be  frightened  if  I  don't  bring 
yon  in  your  coffy.  Last  night  as  I  was  coming  home  smoaking, 
I  met  with  an  accadent.  I  was  nobbed  by  Moss  of  Cursitor 
Street — from  whose  gilt  and  splendid  parler  I  write  this — the 
same  that  had  me  this  time  two  years.  Miss  Moss  brought  in 
my  tea — she  is  grown  very  fat,  and,  as  usual,  had  her  stockens 
down  at  heal. 

"  It's  Nathan's  business — a  hundrcd-and-fifty — with  costs, 
luindred-and-seventy.  Please  send  nic  my  desk  and  some  cloths 
— I'm  in  pumps  and  a  white  tye  (something  like  Miss  M.'s  stock- 
ings)— I've  seventy  in  it.  And  as  soon  as  you  get  this.  Drive  to 
Nathan's — offer  him  seventy-five  down,  and  ask  him  to  renew — 
say  I'll  take  wine — we  may  as  well  have  some  dinner  sherry ;  hut 
not  pictars,  they're  too  dear. 

"  If  he  won't   stand   it.      Take   my  ticker  and   such   of    vour 


VOL.  in. 


106  VANITY   FAIR 

things  as  you  can  spare,  and  send  them  to  Balls — ^we  must,  of 
coarse,  have  the  sum  to-night.  It  won't  do  to  let  it  stand  over, 
as  to-morrow's  Sunday ;  the  beds  here  are  not  very  clean,  and 
there  may  be  other  things  out  against  me — I'm  glad  it  an't 
Rawdon's  Saturday  for  coming  home.     God  bless  you. 

"  Yours  in  haste, 
"  P.  S.      Make  haste  and  come."  "  R.  C. 


This  letter,  sealed  with  a  wafer,  was  dispatched  by  one 
of  the  messengers  who  are  always  hanging  about  Mr. 
Moss's  establishment;  and  Rawdon,  having  seen  him 
depart,  went  out  in  the  court-yard,  and  smoked  his  cigar 
with  a  tolerably  easy  mind — in  spite  of  the  bars  over- 
head ;  for  Mr.  Moss's  court-yard  is  railed  in  like  a  cage, 
lest  the  gentlemen  who  are  boarding  with  him  should 
take  a  fancy  to  escape  from  his  hospitality. 

Three  hours,  he  calculated,  would  be  the  utmost  time 
required,  before  Becky  should  arrive  and  open  his  prison 
doors :  and  he  passed  these  pretty  cheerfully  in  smoking, 
in  reading  the  paper,  and  in  the  coffee-room  with  an  ac- 
quaintance. Captain  Walker,  who  happened  to  be  there, 
and  with  whom  he  cut  for  sixpences  for  some  hours,  with 
pretty  equal  luck  on  either  side. 

But  the  day  passed  away  and  no  messenger  returned, 
— no  Becky.  Mr.  Moss's  tably-dy-hoty  was  sei-^^ed  at 
the  appointed  hour  of  half -past  five,  when  such  of  the 
gentlemen  lodging  in  the  house  as  could  afford  to  pay 
for  the  banquet,  came  and  partook  of  it  in  the  splendid 
front  parlour  before  described,  and  with  which  ]Mr. 
Crawley's  temporary  lodging  communicated,  when  Miss 
M.  (Miss  Hem,  as  her  papa  called  her,)  appeared  with- 
out the  curl-papers  of  the  morning,  and  ]\Irs.  Hem  did 
the  honours  of  a  prime  boiled  leg  of  mutton  and  turnips, 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       107 

of  which  the  Colonel  ate  with  a  very  faint  appetite. 
Asked  whether  he  would  '"  stand  "  a  bottle  of  champagne 
for  the  company,  he  consented,  and  the  ladies  drank  to 
his  'ealth,  and  JMr.  Moss,  in  the  most  polite  manner, 
"  looked  towards  him." 

In  the  midst  of  this  repast,  however,  the  door-bell  was 
heard, — young  Moss  of  the  ruddy  hair,  rose  up  with  the 
keys  and  answered  the  summons,  and  coming  back,  told 
the  Colonel  that  the  messenger  had  returned  with  a  bag, 
a  desk  and  a  letter,  which  he  gave  him.  "  No  ceramony, 
Colonel,  I  beg,"  said  Mrs.  Moss  with  a  wave  of  her  hand, 
and  he  opened  the  letter  rather  tremulously. — It  was  a 
beautiful  letter,  highly  scented,  on  a  pink  paper,  and 
with  a  light  green  seal. 

"  MoN  PAUVRE  CHER  PETIT,"  (Mrs.  Crawley  wrote). 

"  I  could  not  sleep  one  wink  for  thinking  of  what  had  become 
of  my  odious  old  monstre:  and  only  got  to  rest  in  the  morning 
after  sending  for  Mr.  Blench  (for  I  was  in  a  fever),  who  gave 
me  a  composing  draught  and  left  orders  with  Finette  that  I 
should  be  disturbed  on  no  account.  So  that  my  poor  old  man's 
messenger,  who  had  hien  mauvaise  mine  Finette  says,  and  sentoit 
le  Genievre,  remained  in  the  hall  for  some  hours  waiting  my  bell. 
You  may  fancy  my  state  when  I  read  your  poor  dear  old  ill-spelt 
letter. 

"  111  as  I  was,  I  instantly  called  for  the  carriage,  and  as  soon 
as  I  was  dressed  (though  I  couldn't  drink  a  drop  of  chocolate — 
I  assure  you  I  couldn't  without  my  monstre  to  bring  it  to  me), 
I  drove  ventre  a  terre  to  Nathan's.  I  saw  him — I  wept — I  cried 
— I  fell  at  his  odious  knees.  Nothing  would  mollify  the  horrid 
man.  Ho  would  have  all  the  money,  he  said,  or  keep  my  poor 
monstre  in  prison.  I  drove  honu-  with  the  intention  of  paying 
that  triste  visite  chez  mon  oncle  (when  every  trinket  I  have  should 
be   at   your   disposal    though    they   would    not    fetch    a    hundred 


108  VANITY    FAIR 

pounds,  for  some,  jou  know,  are  with  ce  cher  oncle  already ) ,  and 
found  Milor  there  with  the  Bulgarian  old  sheep-faced  monster, 
who  had  come  to  compliment  me  upon  last  night's  performances. 
Paddington  came  in,  too,  drawling  and  lisping  and  twiddling  his 
hair;  so  did  Champignac,  and  his  chef — everybody  w4th  foison 
of  compliments  and  pretty  speeches — plaguing  poor  me,  who 
longed  to  be  rid  of  them,  and  was  thinking  every  moment  of  the 
time  of  mon  pauvre  prisonnier. 

"  When  they  were  gone,  I  went  down  on  my  knees  to  Milor ; 
told  him  we  were  going  to  pawn  everything,  and  begged  and 
prayed  him  to  give  me  two  hundred  pounds.  He  pish'd  and 
psha'd  in  a  fury — told  me  not  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  pawn — and 
said  he  would  see  whether  he  could  lend  me  the  money.  At  last 
he  went  away,  promising  that  he  would  send  it  me  in  the  morn- 
ing :  when  I  will  bring  it  to  my  poor  old  monster  with  a  kiss  from 
his  affectionate 

"Becky. 

"  I  am  writing  in  bed.  Oh  I  have  such  a  headache  and  such  a 
heartache !  " 


When  Rawdon  read  over  this  letter,  he  turned  so  red 
and  looked  so  savage,  that  the  company  at  the  table 
d'hote  easily  perceived  that  bad  news  had  reached  him. 
All  his  suspicions,  which  he  had  been  trying  to  banish, 
returned  upon  him.  She  could  not  even  go  out  and 
sell  her  trinkets  to  free  him.  She  could  laugh  and  talk 
about  compliments  paid  to  her,  whilst  he  was  in  prison. 
Who  had  put  him  there?  Wenham  had  walked  with 
him.  Was  there  ....  He  could  hardly  bare  to 
think  of  what  he  suspected.  Leaving  the  room  hur- 
riedly, he  ran  into  his  own — opened  his  desk,  wrote  two 
hurried  lines,  which  he  directed  to  Sir  Pitt  or  Lady 
Crawley,  and  bade  the  messenger  carry  them  at  once  to 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       109 

Gaunt  Street,  bidding  him  to  take  a  cab,  and  promising 
him  a  guinea  if  he  was  back  in  an  hour. 

In  the  note  he  besought  his  dear  brother  and  sister, 
for  the  sake  of  God ;  for  the  sake  of  his  dear  child  and 
his  honour;  to  come  to  him  and  relieve  him  from  his 
difficulty.     He  was  in  prison:    he  wanted  a  hundred 


pounds  to  set  him  free — he  entreated  them  to  come  to 
him. 

He  went  back  to  the  dining-room  after  dispatching 
his  messenger,  and  called  for  more  wine.  He  laughed 
and  talked  with  a  strange  boisterousness,  as  the  peo- 
ple thought.  Sometimes  he  laughed  madly  at  his  own 
fears,  and  went  on  drinking  for  an  hour;   listening  all 


110  VANITY   FAIR 

the  while  for  the  carriage  which  was  to  bring  his  fate 
back. 

At  the  expiration  of  that  time,  wheels  were  heard 
whirling  up  to  the  gate— the  young  janitor  went  out 
Mdth  his  gate-keys.  It  was  a  lady  whom  he  let  in  at  the 
bailiff's  door. 

"  Colonel  Crawley,"  she  said,  trembling  very  much. 
He,  with  a  knowing  look,  locked  the  outer  door  upon 
her — then  unlocked  and  opened  the  inner  one,  and  call- 
ing out,  "  Colonel,  you're  wanted,"  led  her  into  the  back 
parlour,  which  he  occupied. 

Rawdon  came  in  from  the  dining-parlour  where  all 
those  people  were  carousing,  into  his  back  room ;  a  flare 
of  coarse  light  following  him  into  the  apartment  where 
the  lady  stood,  still  very  nervous. 

"It  is  I,  Rawdon,"  she  said,  in  a  timid  voice,  which 
she  strove  to  render  cheerful.  "  It  is  Jane."  Rawdon 
was  quite  overcome  by  that  kind  voice  and  presence. 
He  ran  up  to  her — caught  her  in  his  arms — gasped  out 
some  inarticulate  words  of  thanks,  and  fairly  sobbed  on 
her  shoulder.  She  did  not  know  the  cause  of  his  emo- 
tion. 

The  bills  of  Mr.  Moss  were  quickly  settled,  perhaps 
to  the  disappointment  of  that  gentleman,  who  had 
counted  on  having  the  Colonel  as  his  guest  over  Sunday 
at  least;  and  Jane,  with  beaming  smiles  and  happiness 
in  her  eyes,  carried  away  Rawdon  from  the  bailiff"s 
house,  and  they  went  homewards  in  the  cab  in  which  she 
had  hastened  to  his  release.  "  Pitt  was  gone  to  a  parlia- 
mentary dinner,"  she  said,  "  when  Rawdon's  note  came, 
and  so,  dear  Rawdon,  I — I  came  myself;  "  and  she  put 
her  kind  hand  in  his.  Perhaps  it  was  well  for  Rawdon 
Crawlev  that  Pitt  was  awav  at  that  dinner.     Rawdon 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO       111 

thanked  his  sister  a  hundred  times,  and  with  an  ardour 
of  gratitude  which  touched  and  ahnost  alarmed  that 
soft-hearted  woman.  "  Oh,"  said  he,  in  his  rude,  artless 
way,  "  you — you  don't  know  how  I'm  changed  since  I've 
known  you,  and — and  little  Rawdy.  I— I'd  like  to 
change  somehow.  You  see  I  want — I  want — to  be — ." 
—  He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  she  could  interpret 
it.  And  that  night  after  he  left  her,  and  as  she  sate  by 
her  own  little  boy's  bed,  she  prayed  humbly  for  that  poor 
wayworn  sinner. 

Rawdon  left  her  and  walked  home  rapidly.  It  was 
nine  o'clock  at  night.  He  ran  across  the  streets,  and  the 
great  squares  of  Vanity  Fair,  and  at  length  came  up 
breathless  opposite  his  own  house.  He  started  back  and 
fell  against  the  railings,  trembling  as  he  looked  up.  The 
drawing-room  windows  were  blazing  with  light.  She 
had  said  that  she  was  in  bed  and  ill.  He  stood  there  for 
some  time,  the  light  from  the  rooms  on  his  pale  face. 

He  took  out  his  door-key  and  let  himself  into  the 
house.  He  could  hear  laughter  in  the  upper  rooms.  He 
was  in  the  ball-dress  in  which  he  had  been  captured  the 
night  before.  He  went  silently  up  the  stairs;  leaning 
against  the  banisters  at  the  stair-head.  —  Nobody  was 
stirring  in  the  house  besides — all  the  servants  had  been 
sent  away.  Rawdon  heard  laughter  within — laughter 
and  singing.  Becky  was  singing  a  snatch  of  the  song 
of  the  night  before;  a  hoarse  voice  shouted  "  Brava! 
Brava!" — it  was  Lord  Steyne's. 

Rawdon  opened  the  door  and  went  in.  A  little  table 
with  a  dinner  was  laid  out  —  and  wine  and  plate.  Steyne 
was  hanging  over  the  sofa  on  which  Becky  sate.  The 
wretched  woman  was  in  a  brilliant  full  toilette,  her  arms 


112  VANITY   FAIR 

and  all  her  fingers  sparkling  with  bracelets  and  rings; 
and  the  brilliants  on  her  breast  which  Steyne  had  given 
her.  He  had  her  hand  in  his,  and  was  bowing  over  it 
to  kiss  it,  when  Becky  started  up  with  a  faint  scream  as 
she  caught  sight  of  Rawdon's  white  face.  At  the  next 
instant  she  tried  a  smile,  a  horrid  smile,  as  if  to  welcome 
her  husband:  and  Steyne  rose  up,  grinding  his  teeth, 
pale,  and  with  fury  in  his  looks. 

He,  too,  attempted  a  laugh — and  came  forward  hold- 
ing out  his  hand.  "  What,  come  back!  How  d'ye  do, 
Crawley?  "  he  said,  the  nerves  of  his  mouth  twitching  as 
he  tried  to  grin  at  the  intruder. 

There  was  that  in  Rawdon's  face  which  caused  Becky 
to  fling  herself  before  him.  "  I  am  innocent,  Rawdon," 
she  said;  "  before  God,  I  am  innocent."  She  clung  hold 
of  his  coat,  of  his  hands ;  her  own  were  all  covered  with 
serpents,  and  rings,  and  baubles.  "  I  am  innocent. — 
Say  I  am  innocent,"  she  said  to  Lord  Steyne. 

He  thought  a  trap  had  been  laid  for  him,  and  was  as 
furious  with  the  wife  as  with  the  husband.  "  You  inno- 
cent! Damn  you,"  he  screamed  out.  "You  innocent! 
Whv  every  trinket  vou  have  on  vour  bodv  is  paid  for 
by  me.  I  have  given  you  thousands  of  pounds  which 
this  fellow  has  spent,  and  for  which  he  has  sold  you. 

Innocent,  bv !    You're  as  innocent  as  vour  mother, 

the  ballet-girl,  and  your  husband  the  bully.  Don't  think 
to  frighten  me  as  you  have  done  others.  Make  way, 
sir,  and  let  me  pass;  "  and  Lord  Steyne  seized  up  his 
hat,  and,  with  flame  in  his  eyes,  and  looking  his  enemy 
fiercely  in  the  face,  marched  upon  him,  never  for  a  mo- 
ment doubting  that  the  other  would  give  way. 

But  Rawdon  Crawley  springing  out,  seized  him  by 
the  neck-cloth,  until  Steyne,  almost  strangled,  writhed. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       113 

and  bent  under  his  arm.  "You  lie,  you  dog!"  said 
Rawdon.  "  You  lie,  you  coward  and  villain!  "  And  he 
struck  the  Peer  twice  over  the  face  with  his  open  hand, 
and  flung  him  bleeding  to  the  ground.  It  was  all  done 
before  Rebecca  could  interpose.  She  stood  there  trem- 
bling before  him.  She  admired  her  husband,  strong, 
brave,  and  victorious. 

"■  Come  here,"  he  said.  —  She  came  up  at  once. 

"  Take  off  those  things."  — She  began,  trembling, 
pulling  the  jewels  from  her  arms,  and  the  rings  from  her 
shaking  fingers,  and  held  them  all  in  a  heap,  quivering 
and  looking  up  at  him.  "  Throw  them  down,"  he  said, 
and  she  dropped  them.  He  tore  the  diamond  ornament 
out  of  her  breast,  and  flung  it  at  Lord  Steyne.  It  cut 
him  on  his  bald  forehead.  Steyne  wore  the  scar  to  his 
dying  day. 

"  Come  up  stairs,"  Rawdon  said  to  his  wife.  "  Don't 
kill  me,  Rawdon,"  she  said.  He  laughed  savagely.—"  I 
want  to  see  if  that  man  lies  about  the  money  as  he  has 
about  me.    Has  he  given  you  any?  " 

"  No,"  said  Rebecca,  "  that  is—" 

"  Give  me  your  keys,"  Rawdon  answered,  and  they 
went  out  together. 

Rebecca  gave  him  all  the  keys  but  one:  and  she  was 
in  hopes  that  he  would  not  have  remarked  the  absence  of 
that.  It  belonged  to  the  little  desk  which  Amelia  had 
given  her  in  early  days,  and  which  she  kept  in  a  secret 
place.  But  Rawdon  flung  open  boxes  and  wardrobes, 
throwing  the  multifarious  trumpery  of  their  contents 
here  and  there,  and  at  last  he  found  the  desk.  The 
woman  was  forced  to  open  it.  It  contained  papers,  love- 
letters  many  years  old— all  sorts  of  small  trinkets  and 
woman's  memoranda.     And  it  contained  a  pocket-book 


114  VANITY   FAIR 

with  bank  notes.  Some  of  these  were  dated  ten  years 
back,  too,  and  one  was  quite  a  fresh  one — a  note  for  a 
thousand  pounds  which  Lord  Steyne  had  given  her. 

"  Did  he  give  you  this?  "  Rawdon  said. 

"  Yes,"  Rebecca  answered. 

"  I'll  send  it  to  him  to-day,"  Rawdon  said  (for  day 
had  dawned  again,  and  many  hours  had  passed  in  this 
search),  "  and  I  will  pay  Briggs,  who  was  kind  to  the 
boy,  and  some  of  the  debts.  You  will  let  me  know  where 
I  shall  send  the  rest  to  you.  You  might  have  spared  me 
a  hundred  pounds,  Becky,  out  of  all  this — I  have  always 
shared  with  vou." 

"  I  am  innocent,"  said  Becky.  And  he  left  her  with- 
out another  word. 

What  were  her  thoughts  when  he  left  her?  She  re- 
mained for  hours  after  he  was  gone,  the  sunshine  pour- 
ing into  the  room,  and  Rebecca  sitting  alone  on  the  bed's 
edge.  The  drawers  were  all  opened  and  their  contents 
scattered  about, — dresses  and  feathers,  scarfs  and  trin- 
kets, a  heap  of  tumbled  vanities  lying  in  a  wreck.  Her 
hair  was  falling  over  her  shoulders ;  her  gown  was  torn 
where  Rawdon  had  wrenched  the  brilliants  out  of  it. 
She  heard  him  go  down  stairs  a  few  minutes  after  he  left 
her,  and  the  door  slamming  and  closing  on  him.  She 
knew  he  would  never  come  back.  He  was  gone  for  ever. 
Would  he  kill  himself? — she  thought — not  until  after  he 
had  m€t  Lord  Steyne.  She  thought  of  her  long  past 
life,  and  all  the  dismal  incidents  of  it.  Ah,  how  dreary 
it  seemed,  how  miserable,  lonely  and  profitless !  Should 
she  take  laudanum,  and  end  it,  too — have  done  with  all 
hopes,  schemes,  debts,  and  triumphs?  The  French  maid 
found  her  in  this  position — sitting  in  the  midst  of  her 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       115 

miserable  ruins  with  clasped  hands  and  dry  eyes.  The 
woman  was  her  accomplice  and  in  Steyne's  pay.  "  Mon 
Dieu,  Madame,  what  has  happened?  "  she  asked. 

What  had  happened?  Was  she  guilty  or  not?  She 
said  not ;  but  who  could  tell  what  was  truth  which  came 
from  those  lips ;  or  if  that  corrupt  heart  was  in  this  case 
pure?  All  her  lies  and  her  schemes,  all  her  selfishness 
and  her  wiles,  all  her  wit  and  genius  had  come  to  this 
bankruptcy.  The  woman  closed  the  curtains,  and  with 
some  entreaty  and  show  of  kindness,  persuaded  her  mis- 
tress to  lie  down  on  the  bed.  Then  she  went  below  and 
gathered  up  the  trinkets  which  had  been  lying  on  the 
floor  since  Rebecca  dropped  them  there  at  her  husband's 
orders,  and  Lord  Steyne  went  away. 


CHAPTER  LIV 


SUNDAY  AFTER  THE  BATTLE 

'HE  mansion  of  Sir  Pitt 
Crawley  in  Great  Gaunt 
Street,  was  just  begin- 
ning to  dress  itself  for 
the  day,  as  Rawdon,  in 
his  evening  costume, 
w^hich  he  had  now  worn 
two  days,  passed  by  the 
scared  female  who  was 
scouring  the  steps,  and 
entered  into  his  brother's 
studv.  Ladv  Jane  in  her 
morning-gown,  was  up 
and  above  stairs  in  the 
nursery,  superintending 
the  toilettes  of  her  children,  and  listening  to  the  morning 
prayers  which  the  little  creatures  performed  at  her  knee. 
Every  morning  she  and  they  performed  this  duty  pri- 
vately, and  before  the  public  ceremonial  at  which  Sir 
Pitt  presided,  and  at  which  all  the  people  of  the  house- 
hold were  expected  to  assemble.  Rawdon  sate  down  in 
the  study  before  the  baronet's  table,  set  out  with  the 
orderly  blue  books  and  the  letters,  the  neatly  docketed 
bills  and  symmetrical  pamphlets;  the  locked  account- 
books,  desks,  and  dispatch  boxes,  the  Bible,  the  Qua?'- 

116 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO       117 

terlif  Revieti:,  and  the  Court  Guide,  which  all  stood  as  if 
on  parade  awaiting  the  inspection  of  their  chief. 

A  book  of  family  sermons,  one  of  which  Sir  Pitt  was 
in  the  habit  of  administering  to  his  family  on  Sunday 
mornings,  lay  ready  on  the  study  table,  and  awaiting 
his  judicious  selection.  And  by  the  sermon-book  was 
the  Observer  newspaper,  damp  and  neatly  folded,  and 
for  Sir  Pitt's  own  private  use.  His  gentleman  alone 
took  the  opportunity  of  perusing  the  newspaper  befoi^e 
he  laid  it  by  his  master's  desk.  Before  he  had  brought 
it  into  the  study  that  morning,  he  had  read  in  the  journal 
a  flaming  account  of  "  Festivities  at  Gaunt  House," 
with  the  names  of  all  the  distinguished  personages 
invited  by  the  ISIarquis  of  Steyne  to  meet  his  Royal 
Highness.  Having  made  comments  upon  this  entertain- 
ment to  the  housekeeper  and  her  niece  as  they  were  tak- 
ing early  tea  and  hot  buttered  toast  in  the  former  lady's 
apartment,  and  wondered  how  the  Rawding  Crawleys 
could  git  on,  the  valet  had  damped  and  folded  the  paper 
once  more,  so  that  it  looked  quite  fresh  and  innocent 
against  the  arrival  of  the  master  of  the  house. 

Poor  Rawdon  took  up  the  paper  and  began  to  try  and 
read  it  until  his  brother  should  arrive.  But  the  print 
fell  blank  upon  his  eyes;  and  he  did  not  know  in  the 
least  what  he  was  reading.  The  Government  news  and 
appointments  (which  Sir  Pitt  as  a  public  man  was 
bound  to  peruse,  otherwise  he  would  by  no  means  per- 
mit the  introduction  of  Sunday  papers  into  his  house- 
liold),  the  theatrical  criticisms,  the  fight  for  a  hundred 
pounds  a-side  between  the  Barking  Butcher  and  the 
Tutbury  Pet,  the  Gaunt  House  chronicle  itself,  which 
contained  a  most  complimentary  tliougli  guarded  ac- 
count of  the  famous  charades  of  which  ^Irs.  Becky  had 


118  VANITY   FAIR 

been  the  heroine — all  these  passed  as  in  a  haze  before 
Rawdon,  as  he  sat  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  chief  of  the 
family. 

Punctually,  as  the  shrill-toned  bell  of  the  black  mar- 
ble study  clock  began  to  chime  nine,  Sir  Pitt  made  his 
appearance,  fresh,  neat,  smugly  shaved,  with  a  waxy 
clean  face,  and  stiiF  shirt  collar,  his  scanty  hair  combed 
and  oiled,  trimming  his  nails  as  he  descended  the  stairs 
majestically,  in  a  starched  cravat  and  a  gray  flannel 
dressing-gown, — a  real  old  English  gentleman,  in  a 
word, — a  model  of  neatness  and  every  propriety.  He 
started  when  he  saw  poor  Rawdon  in  his  study  in  tum- 
bled clothes,  with  blood-shot  eyes,  and  his  hair  over  his 
face.  He  thought  his  brother  was  not  sober,  and  had 
been  out  all  night  on  some  orgy.  "  Good  gracious,  Raw- 
don," he  said,  with  a  blank  face,  "  what  brings  you  here 
at  this  time  of  the  morning?    Why  ain't  you  at  home?  " 

"  Home,"  said  Rawdon,  with  a  wild  laugh.  "  Don't 
be  frightened,  Pitt.  I'm  not  drunk.  Shut  the  door;  I 
want  to  speak  to  you." 

Pitt  closed  the  door  and  came  up  to  the  table,  where 
he  sate  down  in  the  other  arm-chair,  that  one  placed  for 
the  reception  of  the  steward,  agent,  or  confidential  visi- 
tor who  came  to  transact  business  with  the  Baronet, — 
and  trimmed  his  nails  more  vehemently  than  ever. 

"  Pitt,  it's  all  over  with  me,"  the  Colonel  said,  after 
a  pause.    "  I'm  done." 

"  I  always  said  it  would  come  to  this,"  the  Baronet 
cried,  peevishly,  and  beating  a  tune  with  his  clean- 
trimmed  nails.  "  I  warned  vou  a  thousand  times.  I 
can't  help  you  any  more.  Every  shilling  of  my  money  is 
tied  up.  Even  the  hundred  pounds  that  Jane  took  you 
last  night  were  promised  to  my  lawyer  to-morrow  morn- 


(SS;*. 


2*«> 


.m 


'■       .1. 


I   ' 


Sir  Pitt's  Study-chair 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO       119 

iiig ;  and  the  want  of  it  will  put  me  to  great  inconveni- 
ence. I  don't  mean  to  say  that  1  won't  assist  you  ulti- 
mately. But  as  for  paying  your  creditors  in  full,  I 
might  as  well  hope  to  pay  the  National  Debt.  It  is 
madness,  sheer  madness,  to  think  of  such  a  thing.  You 
must  come  to  a  compromise.  It's  a  painful  thing  for  the 
family ;  but  everybody  does  it.  There  was  George  Kitelv, 
I^ord  Ragland's  son,  went  through  the  Court  last  week, 
and  was  what  they  call  white-washed,  I  believe.  Lord 
Ragland  would  not  pay  a  shilling  for  him,  and —  " 

"  It's  not  money  I  want,"  Rawdon  broke  in.  "  I'm 
not  come  to  you  about  myself.  Never  mind  what  hap- 
pens to  me  —  " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  then?  "  said  Pitt,  somewhat  re- 
lieved. 

"  It's  the  boy,"  said  Rawdon,  in  a  husk}^  voice.  "  I 
want  you  to  promise  me  that  you  will  take  charge  of 
him  when  I'm  gone.  That  dear  good  wife  of  yours  has 
always  been  good  to  him;  and  he's  fonder  of  her  than 
he  is  of  his  .  .  .  . — Damn  it.  Look  here,  Pitt — you  know 
that  I  was  to  have  had  JNIiss  Crawley's  money.  I  wasn't 
brought  up  like  a  younger  brother:  but  was  always  en- 
couraged to  be  extravagant  and  kep'  idle.  But  for  this 
I  might  have  been  quite  a  different  man.  I  didn't  do 
my  duty  with  the  regiment  so  bad.  You  know  how  I 
was  thrown  over  about  the  money,  and  who  got  it." 

"  After  tlie  sacrifices  I  have  made,  and  the  manner 
in  which  I  have  stood  by  you,  I  tliink  this  sort  of  re- 
proach  is  useless,"  Sir  Pitt  said.  "  Your  marriage  was 
your  own  doing,  not  mine." 

"  That's  over  now,"  said  Rawdon.  — "  That's  over 
now."  And  tlie  words  were  wrenched  from  him  with  a 
groan,  wliich  made  liis  brother  start. 

VOL.  III. 


120  VANITY   FAIR 

"  Good  God!  is  she  dead?  "  Sir  Pitt  said,  with  a  voice 
of  genuine  alarm  and  commiseration. 

"  I  wish  I  was,"  Rawdon  replied.  "  If  it  wasn't  for 
little  Rawdon  I'd  have  cut  my  throat  this  morning — and 
that  damned  villain's  too." 

Sir  Pitt  instantly  guessed  the  truth,  and  surmised  that 
Lord  Steyne  was  the  person  w^hose  life  Rawdon  wished 
to  take.  The  Colonel  told  his  senior  briefly,  and  in 
broken  accents,  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  "  It  was 
a  regular  plan  between  that  scoundrel  and  her,"  he  said. 
"  The  bailiiFs  were  put  upon  me:  I  was  taken  as  I  was 
going  out  of  his  house :  when  I  wrote  to  her  for  money, 
she  said  she  was  ill  in  bed,  and  put  me  off  to  another 
day.  And  when  I  got  home  I  found  her  in  diamonds  and 
sitting  with  that  villain  alone."  He  then  went  on  to 
describe  hurriedly  the  personal  conflict  with  Lord 
Steyne.  To  an  afl'air  of  that  nature,  of  course,  he  said, 
there  was  but  one  issue:  and  after  his  conference  with 
his  brother,  he  was  going  away  to  make  the  necessary  ar- 
rangements for  the  meeting  which  must  ensue.  "  And 
as  it  may  end  fatally  with  me,"  Rawdon  said  with  a 
broken  voice,  "  and  as  the  boy  has  no  mother,  I  must 
leave  him  to  you  and  Jane,  Pitt — only  it  will  be  a  com- 
fort to  me  if  you  will  promise  me  to  be  his  friend." 

The  elder  brother  was  much  aff'ected,  and  shook  Raw- 
don's  hand  with  a  cordiality  seldom  exhibited  by  him. 
Rawdon  passed  his  hand  over  his  shaggy  eyebrows. 
"  Thank  you,  brother,"  said  he.  "  I  know  I  can  trust 
your  word." 

"  I  will,  upon  my  honour,"  the  Baronet  said.  And 
thus,  and  almost  mutely,  this  bargain  was  struck  between 
them. 

Then  Rawdon  took  out  of  his  pocket  the  little  pocket- 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       121 

book  which  he  had  discovered  in  Becky's  desk :  and  from 
which  he  drew  a  bundle  of  the  notes  which  it  contained. 
''  Here's  six  hundred,"  he  said — "  you  didn't  know  I  was 
so  rich.  I  want  you  to  give  the  money  to  Briggs,  who 
lent  it  to  us — and  who  was  kind  to  the  boy — and  I've  al- 
ways felt  ashamed  of  having  taken  the  poor  old  woman's 
money.  And  here's  some  more — I've  only  kept  back  a 
few  pounds — which  Becky  may  as  well  have,  to  get  on 
with.  As  he  spoke  he  took  hold  of  the  other  notes  to 
give  to  his  brother;  but  his  hands  shook,  and  he  was  so 
agitated  that  the  pocket-book  fell  from  him,  and  out  of 
it  the  thousand  pound  note  which  had  been  the  last  of 
the  unlucky  Beckv's  winnings. 

Pitt  stooped  and  picked  them  up,  amazed  at  so  much 
wealth.  "  Not  that,"  Rawdon  said — "  I  hope  to  put  a 
bullet  into  the  man  whom  that  belongs  to."  He  had 
thought  to  himself,  it  would  be  a  fine  revenge  to  wrap 
a  ball  in  the  note,  and  kill  Steyne  with  it. 

After  this  colloquy  the  brothers  once  more  shook  hands 
and  parted.  Lady  Jane  had  heard  of  the  Colonel's  ar- 
rival and  was  waiting  for  her  husband  in  the  adjoining 
dining-room,  with  female  instinct,  auguring  evil.  The 
door  of  the  dining-room  happened  to  be  left  open,  and 
the  lady  of  course  was  issuing  from  it  as  the  two  brothers 
passed  out  of  the  study.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Raw- 
don, and  said  she  was  glad  he  was  come  to  breakfast; 
though  she  could  perceive,  by  his  haggard  unshorn  face, 
and  the  dark  looks  of  her  husband,  that  there  was  very 
little  question  of  breakfast  between  tlieni.  Rawdon  mut- 
tered some  excuses  about  an  engagement,  squeezing  hard 
the  timid  little  hand  which  his  sister-in-law  reached 
out  to  him.  Her  imploring  eyes  could  read  notliing  but 
calamity  in  his  face;  but  he  went  away  without  another 


122  VANITY   FAIR 

word.  Nor  did  Sir  Pitt  vouchsafe  her  any  explanation. 
The  children  came  up  to  salute  him,  and  he  kissed  them 
in  his  usual  frigid  manner.  The  mother  took  both  of 
them  close  to  herself,  and  held  a  hand  of  each  of  them 
as  they  knelt  down  to  prayers,  which  Sir  Pitt  read  to 
them,  and  to  the  servants  in  their  Sunday  suits  or  liveries, 
ranged  upon  chairs  on  the  other  side  of  the  hissing  tea- 
urn.  Breakfast  was  so  late  that  day,  in  consequence  of 
the  delays  which  had  occurred,  that  the  church-bells  be- 
gan  to  ring  whilst  they  were  sitting  over  their  meal :  and 
Lady  Jane  was  too  ill,  she  said,  to  go  to  church,  though 
her  thoughts  had  been  entirely  astray  during  the  period 
of  family  devotion. 

Rawdon  Crawley  meanwhile  hurried  on  from  Great 
Gaunt  Street,  and  knocking  at  the  great  bronze  Me- 
dusa's head  which  stands  on  the  portal  of  Gaunt  House, 
brought  out  the  purple  Silenus  in  a  red  and  silver  waist- 
coat, who  acts  as  porter  of  that  palace.  The  man  was 
scared  also  by  the  Colonel's  dishevelled  appearance,  and 
barred  the  way  as  if  afraid  that  the  other  was  going  to 
force  it.  But  Colonel  Crawley  only  took  out  a  card  and 
enjoined  him  particularly  to  send  it  in  to  Lord  Steyne, 
and  to  mark  the  address  written  on  it,  and  say  that  Colo- 
nel Crawley  would  be  all  day  after  one  o'clock  at  the 
Regent  Club  in  St.  James's  Street — not  at  home.  The 
fat  red-faced  man  looked  after  him  with  astonishment 
as  he  strode  away;  so  did  the  people  in  their  Sunday 
clothes  who  were  out  so  early ;  the  charity  boj^s  with  shin- 
ing faces,  the  green-grocer  lolling  at  his  door,  and  the 
publican  shutting  his  shutters  in  the  sunshine,  against 
service  commenced.  The  people  joked  at  the  cab-stand 
about  his  appearance,  as  he  took  a  carriage  there,  and 
told  the  driver  to  drive  him  to  Knightsbridge  Barracks. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       123 

All  the  bells  were  jangling  and  tolling  as  he  reached 
that  place.  He  might  have  seen  his  old  acquaintance 
Amelia  on  her  way  from  Brompton  to  Russell  Square 


had  he  been  looking  out.  Troops  of  schools  were  on  their 
march  to  church,  tlie  shiny  pavement  and  outsides  of 
coaches  in  the  subur})s  were  thronged  with  people  out 
upon  their  Sunday  ])k'asure;  but  the  Colonel  was  much 
too  busy  to  take  any  heed  of  these  ])henomena,  and,  ar- 
riving at  Knightsbridgc,  speedily  made  his  way  up  to 


124  VANITY   FAIR 

the  room  of  his  old  friend  and  comrade  Captain  Mac- 
murdo,  who  Crawley  found,  to  his  satisfaction,  was  in 
barracks. 

Captain  Macmurdo,  a  veteran  officer  and  Waterloo 
man,  greatly  liked  by  his  regiment,  in  which  want  of 
money  alone  prevented  him  from  attaining  the  highest 
ranks,  was  enjoying  the  forenoon  calmly  in  bed.  He 
had  been  at  a  fast  supper-party,  given  the  night  before 
by  Captain  the  Honourable  George  Cinqbars,  at  his 
house  in  Brompton  Square,  to  several  young  men  of  the 
regiment,  and  a  number  of  ladies  of  the  corps  de  ballet, 
and  old  Mac,  who  was  at  home  with  people  of  all  ages 
and  ranks,  and  consorted  with  generals,  dog-fanciers, 
opera-dancers,  bruisers,  and  every  kind  of  person,  in  a 
word,  was  resting  himself  after  the  night's  labours,  and, 
not  being  on  duty,  was  in  bed. 

His  room  was  hung  round  with  boxing,  sporting,  and 
dancing  pictures,  presented  to  him  by  comrades  as  they 
retired  from  the  regiment,  and  married  and  settled  into 
quiet  life.  And  as  he  was  now  nearly  fifty  years  of  age, 
twenty-four  of  which  he  had  passed  in  the  corps,  he  had 
a  singular  museum.  He  was  one  of  the  best  shots  in 
England,  and,  for  a  heavy  man,  one  of  the  best  riders; 
indeed,  he  and  Crawlev  had  been  rivals  when  the  latter 
was  in  the  army.  To  be  brief,  Mr.  Macmurdo  was  lying 
in  bed,  reading  in  Bell's  Life  an  account  of  that  very 
fight  between  the  Tutbury  Pet  and  the  Barking  Butcher, 
which  has  been  before  mentioned — a  venerable  bristly 
w^arrior,  with  a  little  close-shaved  grey  head,  with  a  silk 
night-cap,  a  red  face  and  nose,  and  a  great  dyed  mous- 
tache. 

When  Rawdon  told  the  Captain  he  wanted  a  friend, 
the  latter  knew  perfectly  well  on  what  duty  of  friend- 


A   XOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO       125 

ship  he  was  called  to  act,  and  indeed  had  conducted  scores 
of  affairs  for  his  acquaintances  with  the  greatest  pru- 
dence and  skill.  His  Royal  Highness  the  late  lamented 
Commander-in-Chief  liad  had  the  greatest  regard  for 
^Nlacmurdo  on  this  account;  and  he  was  the  common 
refuge  of  gentlemen  in  trouble. 

"  What's  the  row  about,  Crawley,  my  boy?  "  said  the 
old  warrior.  "  Xo  more  gambling  business,  hey,  like 
that  when  we  shot  Captain  Marker?  " 

"  It's  about — about  my  wife,"  Crawley  answered, 
casting  down  his  eyes  and  turning  very  red. 

The  other  gave  a  whistle.  "  I  always  said  she'd  throw 
you  over,"  he  began:  —  indeed  there  were  bets  in  the  regi- 
ment and  at  the  clubs  regarding  the  probable  fate  of 
Colonel  Crawley,  so  lightly  was  his  wife's  character  es- 
teemed by  his  comrades  and  the  world;  but  seeing  the 
savage  look  with  which  Rawdon  answered  the  expres- 
sion of  this  opinion,  Macmurdo  did  not  think  fit  to  en- 
large upon  it  further. 

"  Is  there  no  way  out  of  it,  old  boy?  "  the  Captain 
continued  in  a  grave  tone.  "  Is  it  only  suspicion,  you 
know,  or — or  what  is  it?  Any  letters?  Can't  you  keep 
it  quiet  ?  Best  not  make  any  noise  about  a  thing  of  that 
sort  if  you  can  help  it."  "  Think  of  his  only  finding 
her  out  now,"  the  Captain  thought  to  himself,  and  re- 
membered a  hundred  particular  conversations  at  the 
mess-table,  in  which  Mrs.  Crawley's  reputation  had  been 
torn  to  shreds. 

"  There's  no  way  but  one  out  of  it,"  Rawdon  replied  — 
"  and  there's  only  a  way  out  of  it  for  one  of  us,  Mac — do 
you  understand?  I  was  put  out  of  the  way:  arrested:  I 
found  'em  alone  together.  I  told  him  he  was  a  liar  and 
a  coward,  and  knocked  him  down  and  thrashed  him." 


126  VANITY    FAIR 

"  Serve  him  right,"  Macmurdo  said.    "  Who  is  it?  " 

Rawdon  answered  it  was  Lord  Steyne. 

"  The  deuce!  a  ]Marquis!  they  said  he — that  is,  they 
said  you — " 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean?  "  roared  out  Raw- 
don ;  "  do  you  mean  that  you  ever  heard  a  fellow  doubt 
about  my  wife,  and  didn't  tell  me,  Mac?  " 

"  The  world's  very  censorious,  old  boy,"  the  other  re- 
plied. "  What  the  deuce  was  the  good  of  my  telling  you 
what  any  tomfools  talked  about?  " 

"  It  was  damned  unfriendly,  jNIac,"  said  Rawdon, 
quite  overcome;  and,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands, 
he  gave  way  to  an  emotion,  the  sight  of  which  caused 
the  tough  old  campaigner  opposite  him  to  wince  with 
sympathy.  "  Hold  up,  old  boy,"  he  said;  "  great  man 
or  not,  we'll  put  a  bullet  in  him,  damn  him.  As  for 
women,  they're  all  so." 

"  You  don't  know^  how  fond  I  was  of  that  one,"  Raw- 
don said,  half  inarticulately.  "  Damme,  I  followed  her 
like  a  footman.  I  gave  up  everything  I  had  to  her. 
I'm  a  beggar  because  I  would  marry  her.  By  Jove,  Sir, 
I've  pawned  my  own  watch  in  order  to  get  her  anything 
she  fancied:  and  she — she's  been  making  a  purse  for 
herself  all  the  time,  and  grudged  me  a  hundred  pound 
to  get  me  out  of  quod."  He  then  fiercely  and  incoher- 
ently, and  with  an  agitation  under  which  his  counsellor 
had  never  before  seen  him  labour,  told  ^lacmurdo  the 
circumstances  of  the  story.  His  adviser  caught  at  some 
stray  hints  in  it. 

"  She  may  be  innocent,  after  all,"  he  said.  "  She  says 
so.  Steyne  has  been  a  hundred  times  alone  with  her 
in  the  house  before." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  Rawdon  answered  sadly;  "  but  this 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       127 

don't  look  very  innocent :  "  and  he  showed  the  Captain 
the  thousand  pound  note  which  he  had  found  in  Becky's 
pocket-book.  "  This  is  what  he  gave  her,  jNIac:  and  she 
kep'  it  unknown  to  me:  and  with  this  money  in  the  house, 
she  refused  to  stand  by  me  when  I  was  locked  up."  The 
Captain  could  not  but  own  that  the  secreting  of  the 
money  had  a  very  uo^ly  look. 

Whilst  they  were  engaged  in  their  conference,  Raw- 
don  dispatclied  Captain  ^Macmurdo's  servant  to  Curzon 
Street,  with  an  order  to  the  domestic  there  to  give  up  a 
bag  of  clotlies  of  which  the  Colonel  had  great  need.  And 
during  the  man's  absence,  and  with  great  labour  and  a 
Johnson's  Dictionary,  which  stood  them  in  much  stead, 
Rawdon  and  liis  second  composed  a  letter,  which  the  lat- 
ter was  to  send  to  Lord  Steyne.  Captain  Macmurdo  had 
the  honour  of  waiting  upon  the  ]Marquis  of  Steyne,  on 
the  part  of  Colonel  Rawdon  Crawley,  and  begged  to  in- 
timate that  he  was  empowered  by  the  Colonel  to  make 
any  arrangements  for  the  meeting  which,  he  had  no 
doubt,  it  was  his  Lordship's  intention  to  demand,  and 
which  the  circumstances  of  the  morning  had  rendered  in- 
evitable. Ca])tain  ]Macmurdo  begged  Lord  Stej^ie,  in 
the  most  polite  manner,  to  appoint  a  friend,  with  whom 
he  (Captain  ^NI'jM.)  might  communicate,  and  desired 
that  the  meeting  might  take  place  with  as  little  delay 
as  possible. 

In  a  postscript  tlie  Captain  stated  that  he  had  in  his 
possession  a  l)ank-note  for  a  large  amount,  whicli  Colo- 
nel Crawley  liad  reason  to  suppose  was  tlie  property  of 
the  Marquis  of  Steyne.  And  he  was  anxious  on  the 
Colonel's  behalf,  to  give  up  the  note  to  its  owner. 

By  tlie  time  tliis  note  was  com])osed,  the  Captain's 
servant  returned  from  his  mission  to  Colonel  Crawley's 


128  VANITY   FAIR 

house  in  Curzon  Street,  but  without  the  carpet-bag  and 
portmanteau,  for  which  he  had  been  sent:  and  with  a  very 
puzzled  and  odd  face. 

"  They  won't  give  'em  up,"  said  the  man ;  "  there's  a 
regular  shinty  in  the  house ;  and  everything  at  sixes  and 
sevens.  The  landlord's  come  in  and  took  possession. 
The  servants  was  a  drinkin'  up  in  the  drawing-room. 
They  said — they  said  you  had  gone  off  with  the  plate, 
Colonel  " — the  man  added  after  a  pause: — "  One  of  the 
servants  is  off  already.  And  Simpson,  the  man  as  was 
very  noisy  and  drunk  indeed,  says  nothing  shall  go  out 
of  the  house  until  his  wages  is  paid  up." 

The  account  of  this  little  revolution  in  May  Fair  as- 
tonished and  gave  a  little  gaiety  to  an  otherwise  very 
t?iste  conversation.  The  two  officers  laughed  at  Raw- 
don's  discomfiture. 

"  I'm  glad  the  little  'un  isn't  at  home,"  Rawdon  said, 
biting  his  nails.  "  You  remember  him,  Mac,  don't  you, 
in  the  Riding  School?  How  he  sat  the  kicker  to  be  sure! 
didn't  he?" 

"  That  he  did,  old  boy,"  said  the  good-natured  Cap- 
tain. 

Little  Rawdon  was  then  sitting,  one  of  fifty  gown 
boys,  in  the  Chapel  of  Whitef riars  School :  thinking,  not 
about  the  sermon,  but  about  going  home  next  Satur- 
day, when  his  father  would  certainly  tip  him,  and  per- 
haps would  take  him  to  the  play. 

"  He's  a  regular  trump,  that  boy,"  the  father  went  on, 
still  musing  about  his  son.  "  I  say,  Mac,  if  anything 
goes  wrong — if  I  drop — I  should  like  you  to — to  go  and 
see  him,  you  know :  and  say  that  I  was  very  fond  of  him, 
and  that.  And — dash  it— old  chap,  give  him  these  gold 
sleeve-buttons:  it's  all  I've  got."     He  covered  his  face 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       129 

with  his  black  hands:  over  which  the  tears  rolled  and 
made  furrows  of  white.  Mr.  INlacniurdo  had  also  occa- 
sion to  take  off  his  silk  night-cap  and  rub  it  across  his 
eves. 

"  Go  down  and  order  some  breakfast,"  he  said  to  his 
man  in  a  loud  cheerful  voice, — "  What'll  vou  have, 
Crawley?  Some  devilled  kidneys  and  a  herring — let's 
say — And,  Clay,  lay  out  some  dressing  things  for  the 
Colonel:  we  wxre  always  pretty  much  of  a  size,  Rawdon, 
my  boy,  and  neither  of  us  ride  so  light  as  we  did  when 
we  first  entered  the  corps."  With  which,  and  leaving 
the  Colonel  to  dress  himself,  Macmurdo  turned  round 
towards  the  wall,  and  resumed  the  perusal  of  BelVs 
Life,  until  such  time  as  his  friend's  toilette  was  com- 
plete, and  he  was  at  liberty  to  commence  his  own. 

This,  as  he  was  about  to  meet  a  lord.  Captain  Mac- 
murdo performed  with  particular  care.  He  waxed  his 
moustachios  into  a  state  of  brilliant  polish,  and  put  on  a 
tight  cravat  and  a  trim  buff  waistcoat:  so  that  all  the 
young  officers  in  the  mess-room,  whither  Crawley  had 
preceded  his  friend,  complimented  Mac  on  his  appear- 
ance at  breakfast,  and  asked  if  he  was  going  to  be  mar- 
ried that  Sundav? 


CHAPTER  LV 


IN    WHICH    THE    SAME    SUBJECT    IS    PUESUED 

ECKY  did  not  rally  from 
the  state  of  stupor  and 
confusion  in  which  the 
events  of  the  previous 
night  had  plunged  her 
intrepid  spirit,  until 
the  bells  of  the  Cur- 
zon  Street  Chapels 
were  ringing  for  after- 
noon service,  and  rising 
from  her  bed  she  began 
to  ply  her  own  bell, 
in  order  to  summon 
the  French  maid  who 
had    left    her    some    hours    before. 

Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley  rang  many  times  in  vain;  and 
though,  on  the  last  occasion,  she  rang  with  such  vehe- 
mence as  to  pull  down  the  bell-rope,  ^Mademoiselle  Fi- 
fine  did  not  make  her  appearance,  —  no,  not  though  her 
mistress,  in  a  great  pet,  and  with  the  bell-rope  in  her 
hand,  came  out  to  the  landing-place  with  her  hair  over 
lier  shoulders,  and  screamed  out  repeatedly  for  her 
attendant. 

The  truth  is,  she  had  quitted  the  premises  for  many 
hours,  and  upon  that  permission  which  is  called  French 
leave  among  us.    After  picking  up  the  trinkets  in  the 

130 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO       131 

drawing-room,  Mademoiselle  had  ascended  to  her  own 
apartments,  packed  and  corded  her  own  boxes  there, 
tripped  out  and  called  a  cab  for  herself,  brought  down 
her  trunks  with  her  own  hand,  and  without  ever  so  much 
as  asking  the  aid  of  any  of  the  other  servants,  who  would 
probably  have  refused  it,  as  they  hated  her  cordially, 
and  without  wishing  any  one  of  them  good-bye,  had 
made  her  exit  from  Curzon  Street. 

The  game,  in  her  opinion,  was  over  in  that  little  do- 
mestic establishment.  Fifine  went  off  in  a  cab,  as  we 
have  known  more  exalted  persons  of  her  nation  to  do 
under  similar  circumstances:  but,  more  provident  or 
lucky  than  these,  she  secured  not  only  her  own  property, 
but  some  of  her  mistress's  (if  indeed  that  lady  could  be 
said  to  have  any  property  at  all)  —and  not  only  carried 
off  the  trinkets  before  alluded  to,  and  some  favourite 
dresses  on  which  she  had  long  kept  her  eye,  but  four 
richly  gilt  Louis  Quatorze  candlesticks,  six  gilt  Albums, 
Keepsakes,  and  Books  of  Beauty,  a  gold  enamelled 
snuff-box  which  had  once  belonged  to  Madame  du  Barri, 
and  the  sweetest  little  inkstand  and  mother-of-pearl 
blotting-book,  which  Becky  used  when  she  composed 
her  charming  little  pink  notes,  had  vanished  from  the 
premises  in  Curzon  Street  together  with  Mademoiselle 
Fifine,  and  all  the  silver  laid  on  the  table  for  the  little 
festin  which  Rawdon  interrupted.  The  plated  ware 
Mademoiselle  left  behind  her  was  too  cumbrous  prob- 
ably, for  which  reason,  no  doubt,  slie  also  left  the  fire 
irons,  the  cliimney-glasses,  and  the  rosewood  cottage 
piano. 

A  lady  very  like  licr  subsequently  kept  a  milliner's 
shop  in  the  Rue  du  Ilelder  at  Paris,  where  she  lived  with 
great  credit  and  enjoyed  the  patronage  of  mv  Tjord 


132  VANITY   FAIR 

Steyne.  This  person  always  spoke  of  England  as  of 
the  most  treacherous  country  in  the  world,  and  stated 
to  her  young  pupils  that  she  had  been  affreusement  vole 
by  natives  of  that  island.  It  was  no  doubt  compassion 
for  her  misfortunes  which  induced  the  Marquis  of 
Steyne  to  be  so  very  kind  to  Madame  de  Saint  Ama- 
ranthe.  May  she  flourish  as  she  deserves, — she  appears 
no  more  in  our  quarter  of  Vanity  Fair. 

Hearing  a  buzz  and  a  stir  below,  and  indignant  at 
the  impudence  of  those  servants  who  would  not  answer 
her  summons,  Mrs.  Crawley  flung  her  morning  robe 
round  her,  and  descended  majestically  to  the  drawing- 
room,  whence  the  noise  proceeded. 

The  cook  was  there  with  blackened  face,  seated  on  the 
beautiful  chintz  sofa  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Haggles,  to 
whom  she  was  administering  Maraschino.  The  page 
with  the  sugar-loaf  buttons,  who  carried  about  Becky's 
pink  notes,  and  jumped  about  her  little  carriage  with 
such  alacrity,  was  now  engaged  putting  his  fingers  into 
a  cream  dish ;  the  footman  was  talking  to  Haggles,  who 
had  a  face  full  of  perplexity  and  woe — and  yet,  though 
the  door  was  open,  and  Becky  had  been  screaming  a  half 
dozen  of  times  a  few  feet  ofl",  not  one  of  her  attendants 
had  obeyed  her  call.  "  Have  a  little  drop,  do'ee  now, 
Mrs.  Baggies,"  the  cook  was  saying  as  Becky  entered, 
the  white  cashmere  dressing  gown  flouncing  around 
her. 

"  Simpson!  Trotter!  "  the  mistress  of  the  house  cried 
in  great  wrath.  "  How  dare  you  stay  here  when  you 
heard  me  call?  How  dare  you  sit  down  in  my  presence? 
Where's  my  maid?"  The  page  withdrew  his  fingers 
from  his  mouth  with  a  momentary  terror:  but  the  cook 
took  off  a  glass  of  Maraschino,  of  which  Mrs.  Baggies 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO     133 

had  had  enough,  staring  at  Becky  over  the  httle  gilt 
glass  as  she  drained  its  contents.  The  liquor  appeared 
to  give  the  odious  rebel  courage. 

"  Your  sofv,  indeed!  "  Mrs.  Cook  said.  "  I'm  settin' 
on  jNIrs.  Raggles's  sofy.  Don't  you  stir,  INIrs.  Haggles, 
^lum.  I'm  a  settin'  on  INIr.  and  Mrs.  Raggles's  sofy, 
which  they  bought  with  honest  money,  and  very  dear  it 
cost  'em,  too.  And  I'm  thinkin'  if  I  set  here  until  I'm 
paid  my  wages,  I  shall  set  a  precious  long  time,  Mrs. 
Raggles;  and  set  I  will,  too — ha!  ha!  "  and  with  this  she 
filled  herself  another  glass  of  the  liquor,  and  drank  it 
with  a  more  hideously  satirical  air. 

"  Trotter!  Simpson!  turn  that  drunken  wretch  out," 
screamed  Mrs.  Crawley. 

"I  shawn't,"  said  Trotter  the  footman;  "turn  out 
yourself.  Pay  our  selleries,  and  turn  me  out  too.  We'll 
go  fast  enough." 

"  Are  you  all  here  to  insult  me  ?  "  cried  Becky  in  a 
fury;  "  when  Colonel  Crawley  comes  home  I'll — " 

At  this  the  servants  burst  into  a  horse  haw-haw,  in 
which,  however,  Raggles,  who  still  kept  a  most  melan- 
choly countenance,  did  not  join.  "  He  ain't  a  coming 
back,"  Mr.  Trotter  resumed.  "  He  sent  for  his  things, 
and  I  wouldn't  let  'em  go,  although  Mr.  Raggles  would : 
and  I  don't  b'lieve  he's  no  more  a  Colonel  than  I  am. 
He's  hoff :  and  I  suppose  you're  a  goin'  after  him. 
You're  no  better  than  swindlers,  both  on  you.  Don't  be 
a  bullyin'  me.  I  won't  stand  it.  Pay  us  our  selleries,  I 
say.  Pay  us  our  selleries."  It  was  evident,  from  Mr. 
Trotter's  flushed  countenance  and  defective  intonation, 
that  he,  too,  had  had  recourse  to  vinous  stimulus. 

"  Mr.  Raggles,"  said  Becky,  in  a  passion  of  vexation, 
"  you  will  not  surely  let  me  be  insulted  by  that  drunken 


134  VANITY   FAIR 

man?"  "Hold  your  noise,  Trotter;  do  now,"  said 
Simj)Son  the  page.  He  was  affected  by  his  mistress's 
deplorable  situation,  and  succeeded  in  preventing  an  out- 
rageous denial  of  the  epithet  '  drunken  '  on  the  foot- 
man's part. 

"  O  Mam,"  said  Haggles,  "  I  never  thought  to  live  to 
see  this  year  day.  I've  known  the  Crawley  family  ever 
since  I  was  born.  I  lived  butler  with  Miss  Crawley  for 
thirty  years ;  and  I  little  thought  one  of  that  family  was 
a  goin'  to  ruing  me — yes,  ruing  me  " — said  the  poor 
fellow  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  Har  you  a  goin'  to  pay 
me?  You've  lived  in  this  'ouse  four  year.  You've  'ad 
my  substance:  my  plate  and  linning.  You  ho  me  a 
milk  and  butter  bill  of  two  'undred  pound,  you  must 
'ave  noo  laid  heggs  for  your  homlets,  and  cream  for  your 
spanil  dog." 

"  She  didn't  care  what  her  own  flesh  and  blood  had," 
interposed  the  cook.  "  Many's  the  time,  he'd  have 
starved  but  for  me." 

"  He's  a  charaty  boy  now,  Cooky,"  said  INIr.  Trotter, 
with  a  drunken  "  ha!  ha!  "  —  and  honest  Haggles  contin- 
ued, in  a  lamentable  tone,  an  enumeration  of  his  griefs. 
All  he  said  was  true.  Becky  and  her  husband  had  ruined 
him.  He  had  bills  coming  due  next  week  and  no  means 
to  meet  them.  He  would  be  sold  up  and  turned  out  of 
his  shop  and  his  house,  because  he  had  trusted  to  the 
Crawley  family.  His  tears  and  lamentations  made 
Becky  more  peevish  than  ever. 

"  You  all  seem  to  be  against  me,"  she  said,  bitterly. 
"What  do  you  want?  I  can't  pay  you  on  Sunday. 
Come  back  to-morrow  and  I'll  pay  you  everything.  I 
thought  Colonel  Crawley  had  settled  with  you.  He  will 
to-morrow.     I  declare  to  you  upon  my  honour  that  he 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO       135 

left  home  this  morning  with  fifteen  hundred  pounds  in 
his  pocket-book.  He  has  left  me  nothing.  Apply  to 
him.  Give  me  a  bonnet  and  shawl  and  let  me  go  out  and 
find  him.  There  was  a  difference  between  us  this  morn- 
ing. You  all  seem  to  know  it.  I  promise  you  upon  my 
word  that  you  shall  all  be  paid.  He  has  got  a  good 
appointment.    Let  me  go  out  and  find  him." 

This  audacious  statement  caused  Haggles  and  the 
other  personages  present  to  look  at  one  another  with  a 
wild  surprise,  and  with  it  Rebecca  left  them.  She  went 
up  stairs  and  dressed  herself  this  time  without  the  aid 
of  her  French  maid.  She  went  into  Rawdon's  room, 
and  there  saw  that  a  trunk  and  bag  were  packed  ready 
for  removal,  with  a  pencil  direction  that  they  should  be 
given  when  called  for;  then  she  went  into  the  French- 
Avoman's  garret;  ever}i:hing  was  clean,  and  all  the 
drawers  emptied  there.  She  bethought  herself  of  the 
trinkets  which  had  been  left  on  the  ground,  and  felt  cer- 
tain that  the  woman  had  fled.  "  Good  Heavens!  was 
ever  such  ill  luck  as  mine? "  she  said;  "  to  be  so  near, 
and  to  lose  all.  Is  it  all  too  late?  No;  there  was  one 
chance  more." 

She  dressed  herself,  and  went  away  unmolested  this 
time,  but  alone.  It  was  four  o'clock.  She  went  swiftly 
down  the  streets  (she  had  no  money  to  pay  for  a  car- 
riage), and  never  stopped  until  she  came  to  Sir  Pitt 
Crawley's  door,  in  Great  Gainit  Street.  Where  was 
Ladv  .lane  Crawley?  She  was  at  church.  Becky  was 
not  sorry.  Sir  Pitt  was  in  his  study,  and  had  given 
orders  not  to  be  (hsturbed — she  must  see  Iiim — she 
s]i})ped  by  the  sentinel  in  livery  at  once,  and  was  in  Sir 
Pitt's  room  ])efore  the  astonished  Baronet  had  even  laid 

down  the  paper. 
VOL.  m. 


136  VANITY   FAIR 

He  turned  red  and  started  back  from  her  with  a  look 
of  great  alarm  and  horror. 

"  Do  not  look  so,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  guilty,  Pitt, 
dear  Pitt;  you  were  my  friend  once.  Before  God,  I 
am  not  guilty.  I  seem  so.  Everything  is  against  me. 
And  O!  at  such  a  moment!  just  when  all  my  hopes 
were  about  to  be  realised:  just  when  happiness  was  in 
store  for  us." 

"  Is  this  true,  what  I  see  in  the  paper  then?  "  Sir  Pitt 
said — a  paragraph  in  which  had  greatly  surprised  him. 

"  It  is  true.  Lord  Steyne  told  me  on  Friday  night, 
the  night  of  that  fatal  ball.  He  has  been  promised  an 
appointment  any  time  these  six  months.  Mr.  Martyr, 
the  Colonial  Secretary,  told  him  yesterday  that  it  was 
made  out.  That  unlucky  arrest  ensued;  that  horrible 
meeting.  I  was  only  guilty  of  too  much  devotedness 
to  Rawdon's  service.  I  have  received  Lord  Stevne  alone 
a  hundred  times  before.  I  confess  I  had  money  of 
which  Rawdon  knew  nothing.  Don't  you  know  how 
careless  he  is  of  it,  and  could  I  dare  to  confide  it  to 
him?  "  And  so  she  went  on  with  a  perfectly  connected 
story,  which  she  poured  into  the  ears  of  her  perplexed 
kinsman. 

It  was  to  the  following  effect.  Becky  owned,  and 
with  perfect  frankness,  but  deep  contrition,  that  having 
remarked  Lord  Steyne's  partiality  for  her  (at  the  men- 
tion of  which  Pitt  blushed ) ,  and  being  secure  of  her  own 
virtue,  she  had  determined  to  turn  the  great  peer's  at- 
tachment to  the  advantage  of  herself  and  her  family.  "  I 
looked  for  a  peerage  for  you,  Pitt,"  she  said  (the  brother- 
in-law  again  turned  red).  "  We  have  talked  about  it. 
Your  genius  and  Lord  Steyne's  interest  made  it  more 
than  probable,  had  not  this  dreadful  calamity  come  to 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       137 

put  an  end  to  all  our  hopes.  But,  first,  I  own  that  it  was 
my  object  to  rescue  my  dear  husband, — him  whom  I 
love  in  spite  of  all  his  ill  usage  and  suspicions  of  me, — 
to  remove  him  from  the  poverty  and  ruin  which  was  im- 
pending over  us.  I  saw  Lord  Steyne's  partiality  for 
me,"  she  said,  casting  down  her  eyes.  "  I  own  that  I 
did  everything  in  my  power  to  make  myself  pleasing  to 
him,  and  as  far  as  an  honest  woman  may,  to  secure  his — 


his  esteem.  It  was  only  on  Friday  morning  that  the 
news  arrived  of  the  death  of  the  Governor  of  Coventry 
Island,  and  my  I^ord  instantly  secured  the  ai)])ointment 
for  my  dear  liuslnnid.  It  was  intended  as  a  surprise  for 
him, — he  was  to  see  it  in  the  pa])ers  to-day.  Even  after 
that  horrid  arrest  took  place  (the  expenses  of  which  I^ord 


138  VANITY    FAIR 

Steyne  generously  said  he  would  settle,  so  that  I  was 
in  a  manner  prevented  from  coming  to  my  husband's 
assistance),  my  Lord  was  laughing  with  me,  and  saying 
that  my  dearest  Rawdon  would  be  consoled  when  he 
read  of  his  appointment  in  the  paper,  in  that  shocking- 
spun— bailiff's  house.  And  then— then  he  came  home. 
His  suspicions  were  excited, — the  dreadful  scene  took 
place  between  my  Lord  and  my  cruel,  cruel  Rawdon — 
and,  O  my  God,  what  will  happen  next?  Pitt,  dear  Pitt ! 
pity  me,  and  reconcile  us!  "  And  as  she  spoke  she  flung 
herself  down  on  her  knees,  and  bursting  into  tears,  seized 
hold  of  Pitt's  hand,  which  she  kissed  passionately. 

It  was  in  this  very  attitude  that  Lady  Jane,  who,  re- 
turning from  church,  ran  to  her  husband's  room  directlv 
she  heard  ]Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley  was  closeted  there, 
found  the  Baronet  and  his  sister-in-law. 

"  I  am  surprised  that  woman  has  the  audacity  to  enter 
this  house,"  Lady  Jane  said,  trembling  in  every  limb, 
and  turning  quite  pale.  (Her  Ladyship  had  sent  out 
her  maid  directly  after  breakfast,  who  had  communi- 
cated with  Raggles  and  Rawdon  Crawley's  household, 
who  had  told  her  all,  and  a  great  deal  more  than  they 
knew,  of  that  story,  and  many  others  besides.)  "  How 
dare  Mrs.  Crawley  to  enter  the  house  of — of  an  honest 
family? " 

Sir  Pitt  started  back,  amazed  at  his  wife's  display  of 
vigour.  Becky  still  kept  her  kneeling  posture,  and 
clung  to  Sir  Pitt's  hand. 

"  Tell  her  that  she  does  not  know  all.  Tell  her  that  I 
am  innocent,  dear  Pitt,"  she  whimpered  out. 

"  LTpon  my  word,  my  love,  I  think  you  do  INIrs.  Craw- 
ley injustice,"  Sir  Pitt  said;  at  which  speech  Rebecca 
was  vastly  relieved.     "  Indeed  I  believe  her  to  be — " 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       139 

"  To  be  what?  "  cried  out  Ladv  Jane,  her  clear  voice 
thrilh'ng,  and  her  heart  beating  violently  as  she  spoke. 
"  To  be  a  wicked  woman — a  heartless  mother,  a  false 
wife?  She  never  loved  her  dear  little  boy,  who  used  to 
fly  here  and  tell  me  of  her  cruelty  to  him.  She  never 
came  into  a  family  but  she  strove  to  bring  misery  with 
lier,  and  to  weaken  the  most  sacred  affections  with  her 
wicked  flattery  and  falsehoods.  She  has  deceived  her 
husband,  as  she  has  deceived  everybody;  her  soul  is  black 
with  vanity,  worldliness,  and  all  sorts  of  crime.  I  trem- 
ble  when  I  touch  her.  I  keep  my  children  out  of  her 
sight.     I-" 

"  Lady  Jane!  "  cried  Sir  Pitt,  starting  up,  "  This  is 
really  language — " 

"  I  have  been  a  true  and  faithful  wife  to  you.  Sir 
Pitt,"  Lady  Jane  continued,  intrepidly;  "  I  hav^e  kept 
my  marriage  vow  as  I  made  it  to  God,  and  have  been 
obedient  and  gentle  as  a  wife  should.  But  righteous 
obedience  has  its  limits,  and  I  declare  that  I  will  not  bear 
that — that  woman  again  under  my  roof:  if  she  enters  it, 
I  and  my  children  will  leave  it.  She  is  not  worthy  to  sit 
down  with  Christian  people.  You — you  must  choose,  sir, 
between  her  and  me;  "  and  with  this  my  Lady  swept  out 
of  the  room,  fluttering  with  her  own  audacity,  and  leav- 
ing Rebecca  and  Sir  Pitt  not  a  little  astonished  at  it. 

As  for  Becky,  she  was  not  hurt;  nay,  she  was  pleased. 
"  It  was  the  diamond-clasp  you  gave  me,"  she  said  to 
Sir  Pitt,  reaching  him  out  her  hand ;  and  before  she  left 
him  (for  wliich  event  you  may  be  sure  my  Lady  Jane 
was  looking  out  from  Iier  dressing-room  window  in  the 
upper  story)  tlie  Baronet  had  promised  to  go  and  seek 
out  his  brotlier,  and  endeavour  to  bring  about  a  recon- 
ciliation. 


140  VANITY   FAIR 

Rawdon  found  some  of  the  young  fellows  of  the  reg- 
iment seated  in  the  mess-room  at  breakfast,  and  was 
induced  without  much  difficulty  to  partake  of  that  meal, 
and  of  the  devilled  legs  of  fowls  and  soda-water  with 
which  these  young  gentlemen  fortified  themselves.  Then 
they  had  a  conversation  befitting  the  day  and  their  time 
of  life:  about  the  next  pigeon-match  at  Battersea,  with 
relative  bets  upon  Ross  and  Osbaldiston:  about  Made- 
moiselle Ariane  of  the  French  Opera,  and  who  had  left 
her,  and  how  she  was  consoled  by  Panther  Carr;  and 
about  the  fight  between  the  Butcher  and  the  Pet,  and 
the  probabilities  that  it  was  a  cross.  Young  Tandyman, 
a  hero  of  seventeen,  laboriously  endeavouring  to  get  up 
a  pair  of  moustachios,  had  seen  the  fight,  and  spoke  in 
the  most  scientific  manner  about  the  battle,  and  the  con- 
dition of  the  men.  It  was  he  who  had  driven  the  Butcher 
on  to  the  ground  in  his  drag,  and  passed  the  whole  of  the 
previous  night  with  him.  Had  there  not  been  foul  play 
he  must  have  won  it.  All  the  old  files  of  the  Ring  were 
in  it:  and  Tandyman  wouldn't  pay;  no,  dammy,  he 
wouldn't  pay. — It  was  but  a  year  since  the  young  Cor- 
net, now  so  knowing  a  hand  in  Cribb's  parlour,  had  a 
still  lingering  liking  for  toffy,  and  used  to  be  birched  at 
Eton. 

So  they  went  on  talking  about  dancers,  fights,  drink- 
ing, demireps,  until  Macmurdo  came  down  and  joined 
the  boys  and  the  conversation.  He  did  not  appear  to 
think  that  any  especial  reverence  was  due  to  their  boy- 
hood; the  old  fellow  cut  in  with  stories,  to  the  full  as 
choice  as  any  the  youngest  rake  present  had  to  tell;— 
nor  did  his  own  gray  hairs,  nor  their  smooth  faces  de- 
tain him.  Old  Mac  was  famous  for  his  good  stories. 
He  was  not  exactly  a  lady's  man;    that  is,  men  asked 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO       141 

him  to  dine  rather  at  the  houses  of  their  mistresses  than 
of  their  mothers.  There  can  scarcely  be  a  Hfe  lower, 
perhaps,  tlian  his;  but  he  was  quite  contented  with  it, 
such  as  it  was,  and  led  it  in  perfect  good  nature,  sim- 
plicity, and  modesty  of  demeanour. 

By  the  time  INIac  had  finished  a  copious  breakfast, 
most  of  the  others  had  concluded  their  meal.  Young- 
Lord  Varinas  was  smoking  an  inmiense  meerschaum 
pipe,  while  Captain  Hugues  was  employed  with  a  cigar : 
that  violent  little  devil  Tandyman,  with  his  little  bull- 
terrier  between  his  legs,  was  tossing  for  shillings  with 
all  his  might  (tliat  fellow  was  always  at  some  game  or 
other)  against  Caj^tain  Deuceace;  and  Mac  and  Raw- 
don  walked  off  to  the  Club,  neither,  of  course,  having 
given  any  hint  of  the  business  which  was  occupying 
their  minds.  Both,  on  the  other  hand,  had  joined  pretty 
gaily  in  the  conversation ;  for  why  should  they  interrupt 
it  ?  Feasting,  drinking,  ribaldry,  laughter,  go  on  along- 
side of  all  sorts  of  other  occupations  in  Vanity  Fair,— 
the  crowds  were  pouring  out  of  church  as  Rawdon  and 
his  friend  passed  down  St.  James's  Street  and  entered 
into  their  Club. 

The  old  l)ucks  and  habitues,  who  ordinarily  stand  gap- 
ing and  grinning  out  of  the  great  front  window  of  the 
Club,  had  not  arrived  at  their  posts  as  yet,— the  news- 
paper-room was  almost  empty.  One  man  was  present 
Avhom  Rawdon  did  not  know ;  another  to  whom  he  owed 
a  little  score  for  whist,  and  whom,  in  consequence,  he 
did  not  care  to  meet;  a  third  was  reading  the  Royalist 
(a  periodical  famous  for  its  scandal  and  its  attachment 
to  Chin-cli  and  King)  Sunday  paper  at  the  table,  and 
looking  up  at  Crawley  with  some  interest,  said,  "  Craw- 
ley, I  congratulate  you." 


142  VANITY  FAIR 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  said  the  Colonel. 

"  It's  in  the  Observer  and  the  Royalist  too,"  said  Mr. 
Smith. 

"What?"  Rawdon  cried,  turning  very  red.  He 
thought  that  the  aiFair  with  Lord  Steyne  was  already  in 
the  public  prints.  Smith  looked  up  wondering  and  smil- 
ing at  the  agitation  which  the  Colonel  exhibited  as  he 
took  up  the  paper,  and  trembling,  began  to  read. 

Mr.  Smith  and  Mr.  Brown  (the  gentleman  with 
whom  Rawdon  had  the  outstanding  whist  account)  had 
been  talking  about  the  Colonel  just  before  he  came  in. 

"  It  is  come  just  in  the  nick  of  time,"  said  Smith.  "  I 
suppose  Crawley  had  not  a  shilling  in  the  world." 

"  It's  a  wind  that  blows  everybody  good,"  Mr.  Brown 
said.  "  He  can't  go  away  without  paying  me  a  pony  he 
owes  me." 

"What's  the  salary?"  asked  Smith. 

"  Two  or  tliree  thousand,"  answered  the  other.  "  But 
the  climate's  so  infernal,  they  don't  enjoy  it  long.  Liv- 
erseege  died  after  eighteen  months  of  it:  and  the  man 
before  went  off  in  six  weeks,  I  hear." 

"  Some  people  say  his  brother  is  a  very  clever  man." 

"  I  always  found  him  a  d bore,"  Smith  ejaculated. 

"  He  must  have  good  interest,  though.  He  must  have 
got  the  Colonel  the  place." 

''He!"  said  Brown,  with  a  sneer — "Pooh. — It  was 
Lord  Steyne  got  it." 

"  How  do  you  mean?  " 

"  A  virtuous  woman  is  a  crown  to  her  husband,"  an- 
swered the  other,  enigmatically,  and  went  to  read  his 
papers. 

Rawdon,  for  his  part,  read  in  the  Royalist  the  follow- 
ing astonishing  paragraph:  — 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT  A    HERO       143 

"  Governorship  of  Coventry  Islaxd.^ — H.  M.  S.  Yellow- 
jack,  Commander  Jaunders,  has  brought  letters  and  papers  from 
Coventry  Island.  H.  E.  Sir  Thomas  Liverseege  had  fallen  a 
victim  to  the  prevailing  fever  at  Swampton.  His  loss  is  deeply 
felt  in  the  flourishing  colony.  We  hear  that  the  Governorship 
has  been  offered  to  Colonel  Rawdon  Crawley,  C.  B.,  a  distin- 
guished Waterloo  officer.  We  need  not  only  men  of  acknow- 
ledged bravery,  but  men  of  administrative  talents  to  superintend 
the  affairs  of  our  colonies ;  and  we  have  no  doubt  that  the  gen- 
tleman selected  by  the  Colonial  Office  to  fill  the  lamented  vacancy 
which  has  occurred  at  Coventry  Island  is  admirably  calculated 
for  the  post  which  he  is  about  to  occupy." 

"  Coventry  Island!  where  was  it?  who  had  appointed 
him  to  the  government  ?  You  must  take  me  out  as  your 
secretary,  old  boy,"  Captain  JNIacmurdo  said  laughing; 
and  as  Crawley  and  his  friend  sat  wondering  and  per- 
plexed over  the  announcement,  the  Club  waiter  brought 
in  to  the  Colonel  a  card,  on  which  the  name  of  Mr.  Wen- 
ham  was  engraved,  who  begged  to  see  Colonel  Crawley. 

The  Colonel  and  his  aide-de-camp  went  out  to  meet 
the  gentleman,  rightly  conjecturing  that  he  was  an 
emissary  of  Lord  Steyne.  "  How  d'ye  do,  Crawley? 
I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mr.  Wenham,  with  a  bland 
smile,  and  grasping  Crawley's  hand  with  great  cordial- 
ity. 

*'  You  come,  I  suppose,  from  — " 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Wenham. 

"  Then  this  is  my  friend  Captain  Macnmrdo,  of  the 
Life  Guards  Green." 

"  Delighted  to  know  Captain  ^lacmurdo,  I'm  sure," 
Mr.  Wenham  said,  and  tendered  another  smile  and  shake 
of  the  hand  to  the  second,  as  he  had  done  to  the  principal. 
Mac  put  out  one  finger,  armed  with  a  buckskin  glove, 


144  VANITY    FAIR 

and  made  a  very  frigid  bow  to  JNIr.  Wenham  over  his 
tight  cravat.  He  was,  perhaps,  discontented  at  being 
put  in  communication  with  a  pekin,  and  thought  that 
Lord  Steyne  should  have  sent  him  a  Colonel  at  the  very 
least. 

"  As  JNIacmurdo  acts  for  me,  and  knows  what  I  mean," 
Crawley  said;  "  I  had  better  retire  and  leave  you  to- 
gether." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Macmurdo. 

"  By  no  means,  my  dear  Colonel,"  Mr.  Wenham  said; 
"  the  interview  which  I  had  the  honour  of  requesting  was 
>with  you  personally,  though  the  company  of  Captain 
Macmurdo  cannot  fail  to  be  also  most  pleasing.  In  fact. 
Captain,  I  hope  that  our  conversation  will  lead  to  none 
but  the  most  agreeable  results,  very  different  from  those 
which  my  friend  Colonel  Crawley  appears  to  anticipate." 

"Humph!"  said  Captain  Macmurdo. — Be  hanged 
to  these  civilians,  he  thought  to  himself,  they  are  always 
for  arranging  and  speechifying.  Mr.  Wenham  took  a 
chair  which  was  not  offered  to  him — took  a  paper  from 
his  pocket,  and  resumed — 

"  You  have  seen  this  gratifying  announcement  in  the 
papers  this  morning.  Colonel?  Government  has  secured 
a  most  valuable  servant,  and  you,  if  you  accept  office,  as 
I  presume  you  will,  an  excellent  appointment.  Three 
thousand  a  year,  delightful  climate,  excellent  govern- 
ment-house, all  your  own  way  in  the  Colony,  and  a  cer- 
tain  promotion.  I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart. 
I  presume  you  know,  gentlemen,  to  whom  my  friend  is 
indebted  for  this  piece  of  patronage?  " 

"  Hanged  if  I  know,"  the  Captain  said:  his  principal 
turned  very  red. 

"  To  one  of  the  most  generous  and  kindest  men  in  the 


A    XOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO      145 

world,  as  he  is  one  of  the  greatest — to  my  excellent 
friend,  the  ]Marquis  of  Steyne." 

"  I'll  see  him  d before  I  take  his  place,"  growled 

out  Rawdon. 

"  You  are  irritated  against  my  noble  friend,"  Mr. 
Wenham  calmly  resumed:    "and  now,  in  the  name  of 
common  sense  and  justice,  tell  me  why?  " 
Why?  "  cried  Rawdon  in  surprise. 

"  Why?  Dammy!  "  said  the  Captain,  ringing  his 
stick  on  the  ground. 

"  Dammy,  indeed,"  said  ^Ir.  Wenham,  with  the  most 
agreeable  smile ;  "  still,  look  at  the  matter  as  a  man  of 
the  world — as  an  honest  man,  and  see  if  you  have  not 
been  in  the  wrong.  You  come  home  from  a  journey, 
and  find — what? — my  Lord  Steyne  supping  at  your 
house  in  Curzon  Street  with  JNIrs.  Crawley.  Is  the  cir- 
cumstance strange  or  novel  ?  Has  he  not  been  a  hundred 
times  before  in  the  same  position  ?  Upon  my  honour  and 
word  as  a  gentleman,"  (Mr.  Wenham  here  put  his  hand 
on  his  waistcoat  witli  a  parliamentary  air,)  "  I  declare 
I  think  that  your  suspicions  are  monstrous  and  utterly 
unfounded,  and  that  they  injure  an  honourable  gentle- 
man who  has  proved  his  good  will  towards  you  by  a 
thousand  benefactions— and  a  most  spotless  and  innocent 
lady." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  saj'-  that— that  Crawley's  mis- 
taken?" said  jNIr.  Macmurdo. 

"  I  })elieve  that  JNIrs.  Crawley  is  as  innocent  as  my 
wife,  ^Irs.  Wenham,"  JNIr.  Wenham  said,  with  great 
energy.  "  I  believe  that,  misled  by  an  infernal  jealousy, 
my  friend  here  strikes  a  blow  against  not  only  an  infirm 
and  old  man  of  liigh  station,  his  constant  friend  and 
benefactor,  but  against  his  wife,  his  own  dearest  honour, 


146  VANITY   FAIR 

his  son's  future  reputation,  and  his  own  prospects  in 
Hfe. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  happened,"  Mr.  Wenham  con- 
tinued with  great  solemnity;  "  I  was  sent  for  this  morn- 
ing by  my  Lord  Steyne,  and  found  him  in  a  pitiable 
state,  as,  I  need  hardly  inform  Colonel  Crawley,  any  man 
of  age  and  infirmity  would  be  after  a  personal  conflict 
with  a  man  of  vour  strength.  I  sav  to  vour  face:  it 
was  a  cruel  advantage  you  took  of  that  strength,  Colo- 
nel Crawley-  It  was  not  only  the  body  of  my  noble 
and  excellent  friend  which  was  wounded — his  heart,  sir, 
was  bleeding.  A  man  whom  he  had  loaded  with  bene- 
fits and  regarded  with  affection,  had  subjected  him  to 
the  foulest  indignity.  What  was  this  very  appoint- 
ment, which  appears  in  the  journals  of  to-day,  but  a 
proof  of  his  kindness  to  you?  When  I  saw  his  Lord- 
ship this  morning  I  found  him  in  a  state  pitiable 
indeed  to  see:  and  as  anxious  as  you  are  to  revenge 
the  outrage  committed  upon  him,  by  blood.  You 
know  he  has  given  his  proofs,  I  presume,  Colonel 
Crawley?  " 

"  He  has  plenty  of  pluck,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  Xo- 
body  ever  said  he  hadn't." 

"  His  first  order  to  me  was  to  write  a  letter  of  chal- 
lenge, and  to  carry  it  to  Colonel  Crawley.  One  or  other 
of  us,"  he  said,  "  must  not  survive  the  outrage  of  last 
night." 

Crawley  nodded.  "  You're  coming  to  the  point, 
Wenham,"  he  said. 

"  I  tried  my  utmost  to  calm  Lord  Steyne.  Good  God! 
sir,"  I  said,  "  how  I  regret  that  Mrs.  Wenham  and  my- 
self had  not  accepted  Mrs.  Crawley's  invitation  to  sup 
with  her!" 


A   NOVEL    A\  ITIIOUT   A   HERO       147 

"  She  asked  you  to  sup  with  her?  "  Captain  JNIac- 
murdo  said. 

"  xVfter  the  Opera.  Here's  the  note  of  invitation- 
stop —  no,  this  is  another  paper— I  thought  I  had  it,  but 
it's  of  no  consequence,  and  I  pledge  you  my  word  to 
the  fact.  If  we  had  come— and  it  was  only  one  of  Mrs. 
^Venham's  headaches  which  prevented  us— she  suffers 
under  them  a  good  deal,  especially  in  the  spring— if  we 
had  come,  and  you  had  returned  home,  there  would  have 
been  no  quarrel,  no  insult,  no  suspicion — and  so  it  is 
positively  because  my  poor  wife  has  a  headache  that  you 
are  to  bring  death  down  upon  two  men  of  honour,  and 
plunge  two  of  the  most  excellent  and  ancient  families 
in  the  kingdom  into  disgrace  and  sorrow." 

]\lr.  jMacmurdo  looked  at  his  principal  with  the  air 
of  a  man  profoundly  puzzled:  and  Rawdon  felt  with 
a  kind  of  rage  that  his  prey  was  escaping  him.  He  did 
not  believe  a  word  of  the  story,  and  yet,  how  discredit 
or  disprove  it? 

Mr.  A^^enham  continued  with  the  same  fluent  oratory, 
whicli  in  his  place  in  parliament  he  had  so  often  practised 
—  "I  sate  for  an  hour  or  more  by  Lord  Steyne's  bedside, 
beseeching,  imploring  Lord  Steyne  to  forego  his  inten- 
tion of  demanding  a  meeting.  I  pointed  out  to  him 
that  the  circumstances  were  after  all  suspicious — they 
were  suspicious.  I  acknowledge  it,  —  any  man  in  your 
position  might  have  been  taken  in — I  said  that  a  man 
fiu'ious  with  jealousy  is  to  all  intents  and  })urposes  a 
madman,  and  slioidd  be  as  such  regarded — that  a  duel 
between  you  must  lead  to  the  disgrace  of  all  parties  con- 
cerned—  that  a  man  of  his  TiOrdship's  exalted  station  Iiad 
no  riglit  in  these  days,  when  the  most  atrocious  revolu- 
tionary principles,  and  the  most  dangerous  levelling  doc- 


148  VANITY   FAIR 

trines  are  preached  among  the  vulgar,  to  create  a  public 
scandal;  and  that,  however  innocent,  the  common  peo- 
ple would  insist  that  he  was  guilty.  In  fine,  I  implored 
him  not  to  send  the  challenge." 

"  I  don't  believe  one  word  of  the  whole  story,"  said 

Rawdon,  grinding  his  teeth.    "  I  believe  it  a  d lie, 

and  that  you're  in  it,  Mr.  Wenham.  If  the  chal- 
lenge  don't  come  from  him,  by  Jove  it  shall  come 
from  me." 

Mr.  Wenham  turned  deadly  pale  at  this  savage 
interruption  of  the  Colonel,  and  looked  towards  the 
door. 

But  he  found  a  champion  in  Captain  Macmurdo. 
That  gentleman  rose  up  with  an  oath,  and  rebuked  Raw- 
don for  his  language.  "  You  put  the  affair  into  my 
hands,  and  you  shall  act  as  I  think  fit,  by  Jove,  and  not 
as  you  do.  You  have  no  right  to  insult  Mr.  Wenham 
with  this  sort  of  language ;  and  dammy,  Mr.  Wenham, 
you  deserve  an  apology.  And  as  for  a  challenge  to  Lord 
Steyne,  you  may  get  somebody  else  to  carry  it,  I  won't. 
If  my  lord,  after  being  thrashed,  chooses  to  sit  still, 
dammy  let  him.  And  as  for  the  affair  with — with 
Mrs.  Crawley,  my  belief  is,  there's  nothing  proved  at 
all :  that  your  wife's  innocent,  as  innocent  as  Mr.  Wen- 
ham  says   she   is:   and   at   any   rate,   that   you   would 

be  a  d- fool  not  to  take  the  place  and  hold  your 

tongue." 

"  Captain  Macmurdo,  you  speak  like  a  man  of  sense," 
Mr.  Wenham  cried  out,  immensely  relieved — "  I  forget 
any  words  that  Colonel  Crawley  has  used  in  the  irrita- 
tion of  the  moment." 

"  I  thought  you  would,"  Rawdon  said,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Shut  your  mouth,  you  old  stoopid,"  the  Captain  said. 


A   XOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       149 

good-naturedly.    "  Mr.  Wenham  ain't  a  fighting  man; 
and  quite  right,  too." 

"  This  matter,  in  my  belief,"  the  Steyne  emissary 
cried,  "  ought  to  be  buried  in  the  most  profound  oblivion. 
A  word  concerning  it  should  never  pass  these  doors.  I 
speak  in  the  interest  of  my  friend,  as  well  as  of  Colonel 
Crawley,  who  persists  in  considering  me  his  enemy." 

"  I  suppose  Lord  Steyne  won't  talk  about  it  very 
much,"  said  Captain  IMacmurdo;  "  and  I  don't  see  why 
our  side  should.  The  affair  ain't  a  very  pretty  one,  any 
way  you  take  it;  and  the  less  said  about  it  the  better. 
It's  you  are  thrashed,  and  not  us;  and  if  you  are  satis- 
fied, why,  I  think,  we  should  be." 

Mr.  Wenham  took  his  hat,  upon  this,  and  Captain 
IMacmurdo  following  him  to  the  door,  shut  it  u^^on  him- 
self and  Lord  Steyne's  agent,  leaving  Rawdon  chafing 
within.  When  the  two  were  on  the  other  side,  Mac- 
murdo  looked  hard  at  the  other  ambassador,  and  with  an 
expression  of  anything  but  respect  on  his  round  jolly 
face. 

"  You  don't  stick  at  a  trifle,  Mr.  Wenham,"  he  said. 

"  You  flatter  me.  Captain  Macmurdo,"  answered  the 
other,  with  a  smile.  "  Upon  my  honour  and  conscience 
now,  Mrs.  Crawley  did  ask  us  to  sup  after  the  Opera." 

"  Of  course;  and  Mrs.  Wenham  had  one  of  her  head- 
aches. I  say,  I've  got  a  thousand-pound  note  here, 
which  I  will  give  you  if  you  will  give  me  a  receipt,  please ; 
and  I  will  put  the  note  up  in  an  envelope  for  Lord 
Steyne.  My  man  shan't  fight  him.  But  we  had  rather 
not  take  his  money." 

"  It  was  all  a  mistake,— all  a  mistake,  my  dear  sir," 
the  other  said,  with  the  utmost  innocence  of  manner; 
and  was  bowed  down  the  Chil)  steps  ])y  Captain  Mac- 


150  VANITY    FAIR 

murdo,  just  as  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  ascended  them.  There 
was  a  sHght  acquaintance  between  these  two  gentlemen; 
and  the  Captain,  going  back  with  the  Baronet  to  the 
room  where  the  latter's  brother  was,  told  Sir  Pitt,  in  con- 
fidence, that  he  had  made  the  affair  all  right  between 
Lord  Steyne  and  the  Colonel. 

Sir  Pitt  was  well  pleased,  of  course,  at  this  intelli- 
gence; and  congratulated  his  brother  warmly  upon  the 
peaceful  issue  of  the  affair,  making  appropriate  moral 
remarks  upon  the  evils  of  duelling,  and  the  unsatisfac- 
tory nature  of  that  sort  of  settlement  of  disputes. 

And  after  this  preface,  he  tried  with  all  his  eloquence 
to  effect  a  reconciliation  between  Rawdon  and  his  wife. 
He  recapitulated  the  statements  which  Becky  had  made, 
pointed  out  the  probabilities  of  their  truth,  and  asserted 
his  own  firm  belief  in  her  innocence. 

But  Rawdon  would  not  hear  of  it.  "  She  has  kep' 
money  concealed  from  me  these  ten  years,"  he  said. 
"  She  swore,  last  night  only,  she  had  none  from  Steyne. 
She  knew  it  was  all  up,  directly  I  found  it.  If  she's  not 
guilty,  Pitt,  she's  as  bad  as  guilty;  and  I'll  never  see 
her  again, — never."  His  head  sank  down  on  his  chest 
as  he  spoke  the  words ;  and  he  looked  ';iuite  broken  and 
sad. 

"  Poor  old  boy,"  Macmurdo  said,  shaking  his  head. 

Rawdon  Crawley  resisted  for  some  time  the  idea  of 
taking  the  place  which  had  been  procured  for  him  by  so 
odious  a  patron:  and  was  also  for  removing  the  boy 
from  the  school  where  Lord  Steyne's  interest  had  placed 
him.  He  was  induced,  however,  to  acquiesce  in  these 
benefits  by  the  entreaties  of  his  brother  and  Macmurdo : 
but  mainly  by  the  latter  pointing  out  to  him  what  a  fury 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       151 

Steyne  would  be  in,  to  think  that  his  enemy's  fortune 
was  made  through  his  means. 

When  the  oNIarquis  of  Steyne  came  abroad  after  his 
accident,  the  Colonial  Secretary  bowed  up  to  him  and 
congratulated  himself  and  the  Service  upon  having  made 
so  excellent  an  appointment.  These  congratulations 
were  received  with  a  degree  of  gratitude  which  may  be 
imagined  on  the  part  of  Lord  Steyne. 

The  secret  of  the  rencontre  between  him  and  Colonel 
Crawley  was  buried  in  the  profoundest  oblivion,  as  Wen- 
ham  said ;  that  is  by  the  seconds  and  the  principals.  But 
before  that  evening  was  over  it  was  talked  of  at  fifty 
dinner-tables  in  Vanity  Fair.  Little  Cackleby  himself 
went  to  seven  evening  parties,  and  told  the  story  with 
comments  and  emendations  at  each  place.  How  Mrs. 
Washington  White  revelled  in  it!  The  Bishopess  of 
Ealing  was  shocked  beyond  expression :  the  Bishop  went 
and  wrote  his  name  down  in  the  visiting-book  at  Gaunt 
House  that  very  day.  Little  Southdown  was  sorry:  so 
you  may  be  sure  was  his  sister  Lady  Jane,  very  sorrj^ 
Lady  Southdown  wrote  it  off  to  her  other  daughter  at 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  It  was  town-talk  for  at 
least  three  days,  and  was  only  kept  out  of  the  news- 
papers by  the  exertions  of  ]Mr.  Wagg,  acting  upon  a 
hint  from  ]Mr.  Wenham. 

The  bailiffs  and  brokers  seized  upon  poor  Haggles  in 
Curzon  Street,  and  the  late  fair  tenant  of  that  poor  little 
mansion  was  in  the  meanwhile — where?  Who  cared? 
Who  asked  after  a  day  or  two?  Was  she  guilty  or  not? 
We  all  know  how  charitable  the  world  is,  and  how  the 
verdict  of  Vanity  Fair  goes  when  there  is  a  doubt.  Some 
people  said  she  luid  gone  to  Naples  in  pursuit  of  Lord 
wSteyne ;  whilst  others  averred  that  liis  Lordship  quitted 

VOL.  III. 


152  VANITY   FAIR 

that  city,  and  fled  to  Palermo  on  hearing  of  Becky's  ar- 
rival; some  said  she  was  living  in  Bierstadt,  and  had 
become  a  dame  dlionneur  to  the  Queen  of  Bulgaria; 
some  that  she  was  at  Boulogne ;  and  others,  at  a  board- 
ing-house at  Cheltenham. 

Rawdon  made  her  a  tolerable  annuity;  and  we  may 
be  sure  that  she  was  a  woman  who  could  make  a  little 
money  go  a  great  way,  as  the  saying  is.  He  would  have 
paid  his  debts  on  leaving  England,  could  he  have  got 
any  Insurance  Office  to  take  his  life;  but  the  climate 
of  Coventry  Island  was  so  bad  that  he  could  borrow  no 
money  on  the  strength  of  his  salary.  He  remitted,  how- 
ever, to  his  brother  punctually,  and  wrote  to  his  little  boy 
regularly  every  mail.  He  kept  ^Nlacmurdo  in  cigars; 
and  sent  over  quantities  of  shells,  cayenne  pepper,  hot 
pickles,  guava  jelly,  and  colonial  produce  to  Lady  Jane. 
He  sent  his  brother  home  the  Sxvamp  Town  Gazette,  in 
which  the  new  Governor  was  praised  with  immense  en- 
thusiasm; whereas  the  Srcamp  Town  Sentinel,  whose 
wife  was  not  asked  to  Government  House,  declared  that 
his  Excellency  was  a  tyrant,  compared  to  whom  Nero 
was  an  enlightened  philanthropist.  Little  Rawdon  used 
to  like  to  get  the  papers  and  read  about  his  Excellency. 

His  mother  never  made  any  movement  to  see  the  child. 
He  went  home  to  his  aunt  for  Sundays  and  holidays ;  he 
soon  knew  every  bird's  nest  about  Queen's  Crawley,  and 
rode  out  with  Sir  Huddleston's  hounds,  which  he  ad- 
mired so  on  his  first  well-remembered  visit  to  Hamp- 
shire. 


CHAPTER  I. VI 


GEORGY  IS  MADE  A  GENTLEMAN 

EORGY    OSBORNE    was 

now  fairly  established  in 
his  grandfather's  mansion 
in  Russell  Square:  occupant 
of  his  father's  room  in  the 
house,  and  heir-apparent  of 
all  the  splendours  there. 
The  good  looks,  gallant 
bearing,  and  gentlemanlike 
appearance  of  the  boy  won 
the  grandsire's  heart  for 
him.  Mr.  Osborne  was  as 
^^  proud  of  him  as  ever  he  had 
been  of  the  elder  George. 
The  child  had  many  more  luxuries  and  indulgences 
than  had  Ixjen  awarded  to  his  father.  Osborne's  com- 
merce had  prospered  greatly  of  late  years.  His  wealth 
and  importance  in  the  City  had  very  much  increased. 
He  had  been  glad  enough  in  fQrmer  days  to  put  the 
elder  George  to  a  good  private  school ;  and  a  conmiission 
in  the  army  for  his  son  had  been  a  source  of  no  small 
]iride  to  him:  for  little  George  and  his  future  prospects 
the  old  man  looked  much  higher.  He  would  make  a 
gentleman  of  the  little  chap,  was  Mr.  Osborne's  constant 
saying  regarding  little  Georgy.  He  saw  him  in  his 
mind's  eye,  a  collegian,  a  ])a7-liamcnt-man,— a  Baronet, 


154  VANITY   FAIR 

perhaps.  The  old  man  thought  he  would  die  contented 
if  he  could  see  his  grandson  in  a  fair  way  to  such  honours. 
He  would  have  none  but  a  tip-top  college  man  to  edu- 
cate him,— none  of  your  quacks  and  pretenders,— no, 
no.  A  few  years  before,  he  used  to  be  savage,  and  in- 
veigh against  all  parsons,  scholars,  and  the  like, — declar- 
ing that  they  were  a  pack  of  humbugs,  and  quacks,  that 
weren't  fit  to  get  their  living  but  by  grinding  Latin 
and  Greek,  and  a  set  of  supercilious  dogs,  that  pretended 
to  look  down  upon  British  merchants  and  gentlemen, 
who  could  buy  up  half  a  hundred  of  'em.  He  would 
mourn  now,  in  a  very  solemn  manner,  that  his  own  edu- 
cation  had  been  neglected,  and  repeatedly  point  out,  in 
pompous  orations  to  Georgy,  the  necessity  and  excel- 
lence of  classical  acquirements. 

When  they  met  at  dinner  the  grandsire  used  to  ask  the 
lad  what  he  had  been  reading  during  the  day,  and  was 
greatly  interested  at  the  report  the  boy  gave  of  his  own 
studies ;  pretending  to  understand  little  George  when  he 
spoke  regarding  them.  He  made  a  hmidred  blunders, 
and  showed  his  ignorance  many  a  time.  It  did  not  in- 
crease the  respect  which  the  child  had  for  his  senior.  A 
quick  brain  and  a  better  education  elsewhere  showed  the 
boy  very  soon  that  his  grandsire  was  a  dullard;  and  he 
began  accordingly  to  command  him  and  to  look  down 
upon  him;  for  his  previous  education,  humble  and  con- 
tracted as  it  had  been,  had  made  a  much  better  gentle- 
man of  Georgy  than  any  plans  of  his  grandfather  could 
make  him.  He  had  been  brought  up  by  a  kind,  weak, 
and  tender  woman,  who  had  no  pride  about  anything, 
but  about  him,  and  whose  heart  was  so  pure  and  whose 
bearing  was  so  meek  and  humble,  that  she  could  not  but 
needs  be  a  true  lady.    She  busied  herself  in  gentle  offices 


Georgy  a  Gentleman 


A   XOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       155 

and  quiet  duties;  if  she  never  said  brilliant  things,  she 
never  spoke  or  thought  unkind  ones:  guileless  and  art- 
less, loving  and  pure,  indeed  how  could  our  poor  little 
xVmelia  be  other  than  a  real  gentlewoman  ? 

Young  Georgy  lorded  over  this  soft  and  yielding  na- 
ture :  and  the  contrast  of  its  simplicity  and  delicacy  with 
the  coarse  pomposity  of  the  dull  old  man  with  whom  he 
next  came  in  contact,  made  him  lord  over  the  latter  too. 
If  he  had  been  a  Prince  Royal  he  could  not  have  been 
better  brought  up  to  think  well  of  himself. 

Whilst  his  mother  w^as  yearning  after  him  at  home, 
and  I  do  believe  ever^^  hour  of  the  day,  and  during  most 
hours  of  the  sad  lonely  nights,  thinking  of  him,  this 
young  gentleman  had  a  number  of  pleasures  and  con- 
solations administered  to  him,  which  made  him  for  his 
part  bear  the  separation  from  Amelia  very  easily.  Lit- 
tle boys  who  cry  when  they  are  going  to  school — cry 
because  they  are  going  to  a  very  uncomfortable  place. 
It  is  only  a  very  few  who  weep  from  sheer  affection. 
AVhen  you  think  that  the  eyes  of  your  childhood  dried 
at  the  sight  of  a  piece  of  gingerbread,  and  that  a  plum- 
cake  was  a  comi^ensation  for  the  agony  of  parting  with 
your  mamma  and  sisters;  O  my  friend  and  brother, 
you  need  not  be  too  confident  of  your  own  fine 
feelings. 

Well,  then,  ]\Iaster  George  Osborne  had  every  com- 
fort and  luxury  that  a  wealthy  and  lavish  old  grand- 
father thought  fit  to  provide.  The  coachman  was  in- 
structed to  purchase  for  him  the  handsomest  pony  which 
could  l)e  bought  for  money;  and  on  this  George  was 
taught  to  ride,  first  at  a  riding-school,  whence,  after 
having  ])erf{)rmed  satisfactorily  without  stirrups,  and 
over  the  leaping-bar,  he  was  conducted  through  the  New 


156 


VANITY   FAIR 


Road  to  Regent's  Park,  and  then  to  Hyde  Park,  where 
he  rode  in  state  with  JMartin  the  coachman  behind  him. 
Old  Osborne,  who  took  matters  more  easily  in  the  City 
now,  where  he  left  his  aiFairs  to  his  junior  partners, 
would  often  ride  out  with  ]Miss  O.  in  the  same  fashion- 
able direction.  As  little  Georgy  came  cantering  up  with 
his  dandyfied  air,  and  his  heels  down,  his  grandfather 
would  nudge  the  lad's  aunt,  and  say,  "  Look,  INIiss  O." 
And  he  would  laugh,  and  his  face  would  grow  red  with 
pleasure,  as  he  nodded  out  of  the  window  to  the  boy,  as 
the  groom  saluted  the  carriage,  and  the  footman  saluted 


Master  George.  Here  too  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Frederick  Bul- 
lock, (whose  chariot  might  daily  be  seen  in  the  Ring, 
with  bullocks  or  emblazoned  on  the  panels  and  harness, 
and  three  pasty-faced  little  Bullocks,  covered  with  cock- 
ades and  feathers,  staring  from  the  windows), — Mrs. 
Frederick  Bullock,  I  saj^,  flung  glances  of  the  bitter- 
est hatred  at  the  little  upstart  as  he  rode  by  with  his 


A   XOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       157 

hand  on  his  side  and  his  hat  on  one  ear,  as  proud  as  a 
lord. 

Though  he  was  scarcely  eleven  years  of  age,  INIaster 
George  wore  straps  and  the  most  beautiful  little  boots 
like  a  man.  He  had  gilt  spurs,  and  a  gold-headed  whip, 
and  a  fine  pin  in  his  handkerchief ;  and  the  neatest  little 
kid  gloves  wliich  Lamb's  Conduit  Street  could  furnish. 
His  mother  had  given  him  a  couple  of  neckcloths,  and 
carefulty  hemmed  and  made  some  little  shirts  for  him; 
but  when  her  Samuel  came  to  see  the  widow,  they  were 
replaced  by  much  finer  linen.  He  had  little  jewelled 
buttons  in  the  lawn  shirt-fronts.  Her  humble  presents 
had  been  put  aside  —  I  believe  JNliss  Osborne  had  given 
them  to  the  coachman's  boy.  Amelia  tried  to  think  she 
was  pleased  at  the  change.  Indeed,  she  was  happy  and 
charmed  to  see  the  boj^  looking  so  beautiful. 

She  had  had  a  little  black  profile  of  him  done  for  a 
shilling;  and  this  was  hung  up  by  the  side  of  another 
portrait  over  her  bed.  One  day  the  boy  came  on  his 
accustomed  visit,  galloping  down  the  little  street  at 
Brompton,  and  bringing,  as  usual,  all  the  inhabitants  to 
the  windows  to  admire  his  splendour,  and  with  great 
eagerness,  and  a  look  of  triumph  in  his  face,  he  pulled 
a  case  out  of  his  great-coat —  (it  was  a  natty  white  great- 
coat, with  a  cape  and  a  velvet  collar) — pulled  out  a  red 
morocco  case,  which  he  gave  her. 

"  I  bought  it  with  my  own  money,  jNIamma,"  he  said. 
"  I  thought  you'd  like  it." 

Amelia  opened  tlie  case,  and  giving  a  little  cry  of  de- 
lighted ali'ection,  seized  tlie  boy  and  embraced  him  a 
liundred  times.  It  \vas  a  miniature  of  himself,  very 
prettily  done  (thougli  not  half  handsome  enough,  we 
may  be  sure,  the  widow  tliought) .  His  grandfather  had 
wished  to  have  a  picture  of  him  by  an  artist  wliosc  works. 


158  VANITY   FAIR 

exhibited  in  a  shop-window,  in  Southampton  Row,  had 
caught  the  old  gentleman's  eyes;  and  George,  who  had 
plenty  of  money,  bethought  him  of  asking  the  painter 
how  much  a  copy  of  the  little  portrait  would  cost,  say- 
ing that  he  would  pay  for  it  out  of  his  own  money,  and 
that  he  wanted  to  give  it  to  his  mother.  The  pleased 
painter  executed  it  for  a  small  price;  and  old  Osborne 
himself,  when  he  heard  of  the  incident,  growled  out  his 
satisfaction,  and  gave  the  boy  twice  as  many  sovereigns 
as  he  paid  for  the  miniature. 

But  what  was  the  grandfather's  pleasure  compared 
to  Amelia's  ecstacy?  That  proof  of  the  boy's  affection 
charmed  her  so,  that  she  thought  no  child  in  the  world 
w^as  like  hers  for  goodness.  For  long  weeks  after,  the 
thought  of  his  love  made  her  happy.  She  slept  better 
with  the  picture  under  her  pillow ;  and  how  many  many 
times  did  she  kiss  it,  and  weep  and  pray  over  it!  A 
small  kindness  from  those  she  loved  made  that  timid 
heart  grateful.  Since  her  parting  with  George  she  had 
had  no  such  joy  and  consolation. 

At  his  new  home  Master  George  ruled  like  a  lord:  at 
dinner  he  invited  the  ladies  to  drink  wine  with  the  ut- 
most coolness,  and  took  off  his  champagne  in  a  way 
which  charmed  his  old  grandfather.  "  Look  at  him," 
the  old  man  would  say,  nudging  his  neighbour  with  a 
delighted  purple  face,  "  did  you  ever  see  such  a  chap? 
Lord,  Lord!  he'll  be  ordering  a  dressing-case  next,  and 
razors  to  shave  with;  I'm  blessed  if  he  won't." 

The  antics  of  the  lad  did  not,  however,  delight  Mr.  Os- 
borne's friends  so  much  as  they  pleased  the  old  gentle- 
man. It  gave  Mr.  Justice  Coffin  no  pleasure  to  hear 
Georgy  cut  into  the  conversation  and  spoil  his  stories. 
Colonel  Fogey  was  not  interested  in  seeing  the  little  boy 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO       159 

half  tipsy.  ^Ir.  Serjeant  Toffy's  lady  felt  no  particu- 
lar gratitude  when,  with  a  twist  of  his  elbow,  he  tilted  a 
glass  of  port-wine  over  her  yellow  satin,  and  laughed  at 
the  disaster:  nor  was  she  better  pleased,  although  old 
Osborne  was  highly  delighted,  when  Georgy  "whopped" 
her  third  boy  (a  young  gentleman  a  year  older  than 
Georgy,  and  by  chance  home  for  the  holidays  from  Dr. 
Tickleus's  at  Ealing  School)  in  Russell  Square. 
George's  grandfather  gave  the  boy  a  couple  of  sover- 
eigns for  that  feat,  and  promised  to  reward  him  further 
for  everv  bov  above  his  own  size  and  age  whom  he 
whopped  in  a  similar  manner.  It  is  difficult  to  say  what 
good  the  old  man  saw  in  these  combats ;  he  had  a  vague 
notion  that  quarrelling  made  boys  hardy,  and  that  tyr- 
anny was  a  useful  accomplishment  for  them  to  learn. 
English  youth  have  been  so  educated  time  out  of  mind, 
and  we  have  hundreds  of  thousands  of  apologists  and 
admirers  of  injustice,  misery,  and  brutality,  as  perpe- 
trated among  children.  Flushed  with  praise  and  victory 
over  blaster  TofFy,  George  wished  naturally  to  pursue 
his  conquests  further,  and  one  day  as  he  was  strutting 
about  in  prodigiously  dandyfied  new  clothes,  near  St. 
Pancras,  and  a  young  baker's  boy  made  sarcastic  com- 
ments upon  his  appearance,  the  youthful  patrician 
pulled  off  his  dandy  jacket  with  great  spirit,  and  giving 
it  in  charge  to  the  friend  who  accompanied  him  (Master 
Todd,  of  Great  Coram  Street,  Russell  Square,  son  of 
the  junior  partner  of  the  house  of  Osborne  and  Co.)  — 
George  tried  to  whop  the  little  baker.  But  the  chances 
of  war  were  unfavourable  this  time,  and  the  little  baker 
whopped  Georgy:  who  came  home  with  a  rueful  black 
eye  and  all  his  fine  sliirt  frill  dal)bled  with  tlie  claret 
drawn  from  his  own  little  nose.     He  told  liis  grand- 


160 


VANITY   FAIR 


father  that  he  had  heen  in  combat  with  a  giant;  and 
frightened  his  poor  mother  at  Brompton  with  long,  and 
bv  no  means  authentic,  accounts  of  the  battle. 


This  young  Todd,  of  Coram  Street,  Russell  Square, 
was  jNIaster  George's  great  friend  and  admirer.  They 
both  had  a  taste  for  painting  theatrical  characters;  for 
hard-bake  and  raspberry  tarts;  for  sliding  and  skating 
in  the  Regent's  Park  and  the  Serpentine,  when  the 
weather  permitted;  for  going  to  the  play,  whither  thej'' 
were  often  conducted,  bv  3Ir.  Osborne's  orders,  bv  Row- 


A   NOVEL    WITPIOUT    A   HERO       161 

son.  Master  George's  appointed  body-servant;  with 
whom  they  sate  in  great  comfort  in  the  pit. 

In  the  company  of  this  gentleman  they  visited  all  the 
principal  theatres  of  the  metropolis — knew  the  names 
of  all  the  actors  from  Drury  Lane  to  Sadler's  Wells; 
and  performed,  indeed,  many  of  the  plays  to  the  Todd 
family  and  their  youthful  friends,  with  West's  famous 
characters,  on  their  pasteboard  theatre.  Rowson,  the 
footman,  who  was  of  a  generous  disposition,  would  not 
unfrequently,  when  in  cash,  treat  his  young  master  to 
oysters  after  the  play,  and  to  a  glass  of  rum-shrub  for 
a  night-cap.  We  may  be  pretty  certain  that  ^Nlr.  Row- 
son  profited  in  his  turn,  by  his  young  master's  liberality 
and  gratitude  for  the  pleasures  to  which  the  footman  in- 
ducted him. 

A  famous  tailor  from  the  West  End  of  the  town, — 
]Mr.  Osborne  would  have  none  of  your  City  or  Holborn 
bunglers,  he  said,  for  the  boy  (though  a  City  tailor  was 
good  enough  for  Jiitn), — was  summoned  to  ornament  lit- 
tle George's  person,  and  was  told  to  spare  no  expense  in 
so  doing.  So,  Mr.  Woolsey,  of  Conduit-street,  gave  a 
loose  to  his  imagination,  and  sent  the  child  home  fancy 
trowsers,  fancy  waistcoats,  and  fancy  jackets  enough 
to  furnish  a  school  of  little  dandies.  Georgy  had  little 
white  waistcoats  for  evening  parties  and  little  cut  velvet 
waistcoats  for  dinners,  and  a  dear  little  darling  shawl 
dressing-gown,  for  all  the  world  like  a  little  man.  He 
dressed  for  dinner  every  day,  "  like  a  regular  West  End 
swell,"  as  his  grandfather  remarked;  one  of  the  domes- 
tics was  affected  to  liis  special  service,  attended  liim  at 
his  toilette,  answered  his  bell,  and  brought  him  his  letters 
always  on  a  silver  tray. 

Georgy,  after  breakfast,  would  sit  in  the  arm-chair  in 


162  VANITY    FAIR 

the  dining-room,  and  read  the  Morning  Post,  just  like  a 
grown-up  man.  "  How  he  du  dam  and  swear,"  the  ser- 
vants would  cry,  delighted  at  his  precocity.  Those  who 
remembered  the  Captain  his  father,  declared  Master 
George  was  his  Pa  every  inch  of  him.  He  made  the 
house  lively  by  his  activity,  his  imperiousness,  his  scold- 
ing, and  his  good-nature. 

George's  education  was  confided  to  a  neighbouring 
scholar  and  private  pedagogue  who  "  prepared  young 
noblemen  and  gentlemen  for  the  Universities,  the  senate, 
and  the  learned  professions:  whose  system  did  not  em- 
brace the  degrading  corporal  severities  still  practised  at 
the  ancient  places  of  education,  and  in  whose  family  the 
pupils  would  find  the  elegances  of  refined  society  and 
the  confidence  and  affection  of  a  home."  It  was  in  this 
way  that  the  Reverend  Lawrence  Veal  of  Hart  Street, 
Bloomsbury,  and  domestic  Chaplain  to  the  Earl  of  Bare- 
acres,  strove  with  jMrs.  Veal  his  wife  to  entice  pupils. 

By  thus  advertising  and  pushing  sedulously,  the  do- 
mestic Chaplain  and  his  Lady  generally  succeeded  in 
having  one  or  two  scholars  by  them:  who  paid  a  high 
figure :  and  were  thought  to  be  in  uncommonly  comfort- 
able quarters.  There  was  a  large  West  Indian,  whom 
nobody  came  to  see,  with  a  mahogany  complexion,  a 
woolly  head,  and  an  exceedingly  dandyfied  appearance ; 
there  was  another  hulking  boy  of  three-and-twenty 
whose  education  had  been  neglected,  and  whom  IVIr.  and 
Mrs.  Veal  were  to  introduce  into  the  polite  world :  there 
were  two  sons  of  Colonel  Bangles  of  the  East  India 
Company's  Service:  these  four  sate  down  to  dinner  at 
Mrs.  Veal's  genteel  board,  when  Georgy  was  introduced 
to  her  establishment. 

Georgy  was,  like  some  dozen  other  pupils,  only  a  day 


A   XOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       163 

boy;  he  arrived  in  the  morning  under  the  guardianship 
of  his  friend  ^Ir.  Rowson,  and  if  it  was  fine,  would  ride 
away  in  the  afternoon  on  his  pony,  followed  by  the 
groom.  The  wealth  of  his  grandfather  was  reported 
in  the  school  to  be  prodigious.  The  Rev.  ^Ir.  Veal  used 
to  compliment  Georgy  upon  it  personally,  warning  him 
that  he  was  destined  for  a  high  station;  that  it  became 
him  to  prepare,  by  sedulity  and  docility  in  youth,  for 
the  lofty  duties  to  which  he  would  be  called  in  mature 
age ;  that  obedience  in  the  child  was  the  best  preparation 
for  command  in  the  man ;  and  that  he  therefore  begged 
George  would  not  bring  toffy  into  the  school,  and  ruin 
the  health  of  the  JNIasters  Bangles,  who  had  everything 
they  wanted  at  the  elegant  and  abundant  table  of  JNIrs. 
Veal. 

With  respect  to  learning,  "  the  Curriculum,"  as  INIr. 
Veal  loved  to  call  it,  was  of  prodigious  extent:  and  the 
young  gentlemen  in  Hart  Street  might  learn  a  some- 
thing of  every  known  science.  The  Rev.  JNIr.  Veal  had 
an  orrery,  an  electrifying  machine,  a  turning  lathe,  a 
theatre  (in  the  wash-house),  a  chemical  apparatus,  and 
what  he  called  a  select  library  of  all  the  works  of  the  best 
authors  of  ancient  and  modern  times  and  languages. 
He  took  the  bovs  to  the  British  JNIuseum,  and  descanted 
upon  the  antiquities  and  the  specimens  of  natural  his- 
tory there,  so  that  audiences  would  gather  round  him 
as  he  spoke,  and  all  Bloomsbury  highly  admired  him 
as  a  prodigiously  well-informed  man.  And  whenever 
he  spoke  (which  he  did  almost  always),  he  took  care  to 
produce  the  very  finest  and  longest  words  of  which  the 
vocabulary  gave  him  the  use;  rightly  judging,  that  it 
was  as  cheap  to  employ  a  handsome,  large,  and  sonorous 
epithet,  as  to  use  a  little  stingy  one. 


164  VANITY   FAIR 

Thus  he  would  say  to  George  in  school,  "  I  observed 
on  my  return  home  from  taking  the  indulgence  of  an 
evening's  scientific  conversation  with  my  excellent  friend 
Doctor  Bulders— a  true  archsologian,  gentlemen,  a  true 
archffiologian — that  the  windows  of  your  venerated 
grandfather's  almost  princely  mansion  in  Russell  Square 
were  illuminated  as  if  for  the  purposes  of  festivity.  Am 
I  right  in  my  conjecture,  that  Mr.  Osborne  entertained 
a  society  of  chosen  spirits  round  his  sumptuous  board 
lastnigiit?" 

Little  Georgy,  who  had  considerable  humour,  and 
used  to  mimic  Mr.  Veal  to  his  face  with  great  spirit  and 
dexterity,  would  reply,  that  JNIr.  V.  was  quite  correct  in 
his  surmise. 

"  Then  those  friends  who  had  the  honour  of  partaking 
of  Mr.  Osborne's  hospitality,  gentlemen,  had  no  reason, 
I  will  lay  any  wager,  to  complain  of  their  repast.  I  my- 
self have  been  more  than  once  so  favoured.  (By  the  way, 
]M aster  Osborne,  you  came  a  little  late  this  morning,  and 
have  been  a  defaulter  in  this  respect  more  than  once.) 
I  myself,  I  say,  gentlemen,  humble  as  I  am,  have  been 
found  not  unworthy  to  share  Mr.  Osborne's  elegant  hos- 
pitality. And  though  I  have  feasted  with  the  great  and 
noble  of  the  world — for  I  presume  that  I  may  call  my 
excellent  friend  and  patron,  the  Right  Honourable 
George  Earl  of  Bareacres,  one  of  the  number — yet  I 
assure  you  that  the  board  of  the  British  merchant  was 
to  the  full  as  richly  served,  and  his  reception  as  gratify- 
ing and  noble.  '  Mr.  Bluck,  sir,  we  will  resume,  if  you 
please,  that  passage  of  Eutropius,  which  was  interrupted 
by  the  late  arrival  of  Master  Osborne.'  " 

To  this  great  man  George's  education  was  for  some 
time  entrusted.    Amelia  was  bewildered  by  his  phrases, 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       165 

but  thouglit  him  a  prodigy  of  learning.  That  poor 
Avidow  made  friends  of  oMrs.  Veal,  for  reasons  of  her 
own.  She  liked  to  be  in  the  house,  and  see  Georgy  com- 
ing to  school  there.  She  liked  to  be  asked  to  Mrs.  Veal's 
conversazioni,  which  took  place  once  a  month  (as  you 
Avere  informed  on  pink  cards,  with  A0HNH  engraved  on 
them),  and  where  the  professor  welcomed  his  pupils  and 
their  friends  to  weak  tea  and  scientific  conversation. 
Poor  little  Amelia  never  missed  one  of  these  entertain- 
ments, and  thought  them  delicious  so  long  as  she  might 
have  Georgy  sitting  by  her.  And  she  would  walk  from 
Brompton  in  any  weather,  and  embrace  INIrs.  Veal  with 
tearful  gratitude  for  the  delightful  evening  she  had 
passed,  when,  the  company  having  retired  and  Georgj^ 
gone  off  with  Mr.  Rowson,  his  attendant,  poor  Mrs. 
Osborne  put  on  her  cloaks  and  her  shawls  preparatory 
to  walking  home. 

As  for  the  learning  which  Georgy  imbibed  under  this 
valuable  master  of  a  hundred  sciences,  to  judge  from  the 
weekly  reports  which  the  lad  took  home  to  his  grand- 
father, his  progress  was  remarkable.  The  names  of  a 
score  or  more  of  desirable  branches  of  knowledge  were 
printed  in  a  table,  and  the  pupil's  progress  in  each  was 
marked  by  the  professor.  In  Greek  Georgy  was  pro- 
nounced aristos,  in  Latin  optimus,  in  French  ires  hien, 
and  so  forth;  and  everybody  had  prizes  for  everything 
at  the  end  of  the  year.  Even  Mr.  Swartz,  the  woolly- 
headed  young  gentleman,  and  half-brother  to  the  Hon- 
ourable ]Mrs.  ]\Iac]\Iull,  and  Mr.  Bluck,  the  neglected 
young  pupil  of  three-and-twenty  from  the  agricultural 
districts,  and  that  idle  young  scapegrace  of  a  Master 
Todd  l)efore  mentioned,  received  little  eighteen-penny 
books,  with  "  Athene  "  engraved  on  them,  and  a  pom- 

VOL.  111. 


166  VANITY   FAIR 

pous  Latin  inscription  from  the  Professor  to  his  young 
friends. 

The  family  of  this  jMaster  Todd  were  hangers-on  of 
the  house  of  Osborne.  The  old  gentleman  had  advancd 
Todd  from  being  a  clerk  to  be  a  junior  partner  in  his 
establishment. 

Mr.  Osborne  was  the  godfather  of  young  INIaster 
Todd  (who  in  subsequent  life  wrote  Mr.  Osborne  Todd 
on  his  cards,  and  became  a  man  of  decided  fashion), 
while  JVIiss  Osborne  had  accompanied  ]Miss  ^laria  Todd 
to  the  font,  and  gave  her  protegee  a  prayer-book,  a  col- 
lection of  tracts,  a  volume  of  very  low  church  poetry, 
or  some  such  memento  of  her  goodness  every  year.  ]Miss 
O.  drove  the  Todds  out  in  her  carriage  now  and  then: 
when  they  were  ill,  her  footman,  in  large  plush  smalls 
and  waistcoat,  brought  jellies  and  delicacies  from  Rus- 
sell Square  to  Coram  Street.  Coram  Street  trembled 
and  looked  up  to  Russell  Square  indeed ;  and  ]Mrs.  Todd, 
who  had  a  pretty  hand  at  cutting  out  paper  trimmings 
for  haunches  of  mutton,  and  could  make  flowers,  ducks, 
&c.  out  of  turnips  and  carrots  in  a  very  creditable  man- 
ner, would  go  to  "  the  Square,"  as  it  was  called,  and 
assist  in  the  preparations  incident  to  a  great  dinner, 
without  even  so  much  as  thinking  of  sitting  down  to  the 
banquet.  If  any  guest  failed  at  the  eleventh  hour,  Todd 
was  asked  to  dine.  ]Mrs,  Todd  and  Maria  came  across 
in  the  evening,  slipped  in  with  a  muffled  knock,  and  were 
in  the  drawing-room  by  the  time  ^Nliss  Osborne  and  the 
ladies  under  her  convoy  reached  that  apartment;  and 
ready  to  fire  off  duets  and  sing  until  the  gentlemen  came 
up.  Poor  ^laria  Todd ;  poor  young  lad}^ !  How  she  had 
to  work  and  thrum  at  these  duets  and  sonatas  in  the 
Street,  before  they  appeared  in  public  in  the  Square ! 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       1G7 

Thus  it  seemed  to  be  decreed  by  fate,  that  Georgy 
was  to  domineer  over  everybody  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact,  and  that  friends,  relatives,  and  domestics  were 
all  to  bow  the  knee  before  the  little  fellow.  It  must  be 
owned  that  he  accommodated  himself  very  willingly  to 
this  arrangement.  JNIost  people  do  so.  And  Georgy 
liked  to  play  the  part  of  master,  and  perhaps  had  a 
natural  aptitude  for  it. 

In  Russell  Square  everybody  was  afraid  of  Mr.  Os- 
borne, and  ^Ir.  Osborne  was  afraid  of  Georgy.  The 
boy's  dashing  manners,  and  off-hand  rattle  about  books 
and  learning,  his  likeness  to  his  father  (dead  unrecon- 
ciled in  Brussels  yonder),  awed  the  old  gentleman,  and 
gave  the  young  boy  the  mastery.  The  old  man  would 
start  at  some  hereditary  feature  or  tone  unconsciously 
used  by  the  little  lad,  and  fancy  that  George's  father  was 
again  before  him.  He  tried  by  indulgence  to  the  grand- 
son to  make  up  for  harshness  to  the  elder  George.  Peo- 
ple were  surprised  at  his  gentleness  to  the  boy.  He 
growled  and  swore  at  Miss  Osborne  as  usual :  and  would 
smile  when  George  came  down  late  for  breakfast. 

Miss  Osborne,  George's  aunt,  was  a  faded  old  spin- 
ster, broken  down  by  more  than  forty  years  of  dulness 
and  coarse  usage.  It  was  easy  for  a  lad  of  spirit  to  mas- 
ter her.  And  whenever  George  wanted  anything  from 
her,  from  the  jam-pots  in  her  cupboards,  to  the  cracked 
and  dry  old  colours  in  her  paint-box  (the  old  paint-box 
which  she  had  had  when  she  was  a  pupil  of  Mr.  Smee, 
and  was  still  almost  young  and  blooming),  Georgy  took 
possession  of  the  object  of  his  desire,  which  obtained,  he 
took  no  further  notice  of  his  aunt. 

For  his  friends  and  cronies,  he  had  a  pompous  old 
schoolmaster,  who  flattered  him,  and  a  toady,  his  senior. 


168  VANITY    FAIR 

whom  he  could  thrash.  It  was  dear  Mrs.  Todd's  dehght 
to  leave  him  with  her  youngest  daughter,  Rosa  Jemima, 
a  darling  child  of  eight  years  old.  The  little  pair  looked 
so  well  together,  she  would  say  (but  not  to  the  folks  in 
'the  Square,'  we  may  be  sure),  —  "Who  knows  what 
might  l]apj)en?  Don't  they  make  a  pretty  little  couple?  " 
the  fond  mother  tliought. 

The  broken-spirited,  old,  maternal  grandfather  was 
likewise  subject  to  the  little  tyrant.  He  could  not  help 
respecting  a  lad  who  had  such  fine  clothes,  and  rode  with 
a  groom  behind  him.  Georg}^  on  his  side,  was  in  the 
constant  habit  of  hearing  coarse  abuse  and  vulgar  satire 
levelled  at  John  Sedley,  by  his  pitiless  old  enemy,  Mr. 
Osborne.  Osborne  used  to  call  the  other  the  old  pauper, 
the  old  coal-man,  the  old  ]:)ankrupt,  and  by  many  other 
such  names  of  brutal  contumely.  How  was  little  George 
to  respect  a  man  so  prostrate?  A  few  months  after  he 
was  with  his  paternal  grandfather,  Mrs.  Sedley  died. 
There  had  been  little  love  between  her  and  the  child. 
He  did  not  care  to  show  much  grief.  He  came  down 
to  visit  his  mother  in  a  fine  new  suit  of  mourning,  and 
was  very  angry  that  he  could  not  go  to  a  play  upon  which 
he  had  set  his  heart. 

The  illness  of  that  old  lady  had  been  the  occupation 
and  perhaps  the  safeguard  of  Amelia.  What  do  men 
know  about  women's  martyrdoms?  We  should  go  mad 
had  we  to  endure  the  hundredth  part  of  those  daily  pains 
which  are  meekly  borne  by  many  women.  Ceaseless 
slavery  meeting  with  no  reward ;  constant  gentleness  and 
kindness  met  by  cruelty  as  constant;  love,  labour,  pa- 
tience, watchfulness,  without  even  so  much  as  the  ac- 
knowledgment of  a  good  word;  all  this,  how  many  of 
them  have  to  bear  in  quiet,  and  appear  abroad  with  cheer- 


A   XOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       169 

ful  faces  as  if  they  felt  nothing.  Tender  slaves  that  they 
are,  they  must  needs  he  hypocrites  and  weak. 

From  her  chair  Amelia's  mother  had  taken  to  her  bed, 
which  she  had  never  left :  and  from  which  Mrs.  Osborne 
herself  was  never  absent  except  when  she  ran  to  see 
George.  The  old  lady  grudged  her  even  those  rare  visits ; 
she,  who  had  been  a  kind,  smiling,  good-natured  mother 
once,  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity,  but  whom  poverty 
and  infirmities  had  broken  down.  Her  illness  or  es- 
trangement did  not  affect  Amelia.  They  rather  enabled 
her  to  support  the  other  calamity  under  which  she  was 
suffering,  and  from  the  thoughts  of  which  she  was  kept 
by  the  ceaseless  calls  of  the  invalid.  Amelia  bore  her 
harshness  quite  gently ;  smoothed  the  uneasy  pillow ;  was 
always  ready  with  a  soft  answer  to  the  watchful,  queru- 
lous voice ;  soothed  the  sufferer  with  words  of  hope,  such 
as  her  pious  simple  heart  could  best  feel  and  utter,  and 
closed  tlie  eyes  that  had  once  looked  so  tenderly  upon 
her. 

Then  all  her  time  and  tenderness  were  devoted  to  the 
consolation  and  comfort  of  the  bereaved  old  father,  who 
was  stunned  bv  the  blow  which  had  befallen  him,  and 
stood  utterly  alone  in  the  world.  His  wife,  his  honour, 
his  fortune,  everything  he  loved  best  had  fallen  away 
from  him.  There  was  only  Amelia  to  stand  by  and  sup- 
port with  her  gentle  arms  the  tottering,  heart-broken,  old 
man.  We  are  not  going  to  write  the  liistory:  it  would 
be  too  dreary  and  stupid.  I  can  see  Vanity  Fair  yawn- 
ing over  it  d'avance. 

One  day  as  the  young  gentlemen  were  assembled  in 
the  study  at  the  Rev.  ^Ir.  Veal's,  and  the  domestic  cha])- 
lain  to  the  Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Bareacres  was 


170  VANITY   FAIR 

spouting  away  as  usual — a  smart  carriage  drove  up  to 
the  door  decorated  with  the  statue  of  Athene,  and  two 
gentlemen  stepped  out.  The  young  Masters  Bangles 
rushed  to  the  window,  with  a  vague  notion  that  their 
father  might  have  arrived  from  Bombay.  The  great 
hulking  scholar  of  three-and-twenty,  who  was  crying 
secretly  over  a  passage  of  Eutropius,  flattened  his  neg- 
lected nose  against  the  panes,  and  looked  at  the  drag, 
as  the  laquais  de  place  sprang  from  the  box  and  let  out 
the  persons  in  the  carriage. 

"  It's  a  fat  one  and  a  thin  one,"  Mr.  Bluck  said,  as  a 
thundering  knock  came  to  the  door. 

Everybody  was  interested,  from  the  domestic  chap- 
lain himself,  who  hoped  he  saw  the  fatliers  of  some  fu- 
ture pupils,  down  to  INIaster  Georgy,  glad  of  any  pretext 
for  laying  his  book  down. 

The  boy  in  the  shabby  livery,  with  the  faded  copper- 
buttons,  who  always  thrust  himself  into  the  tight  coat 
to  open  the  door,  came  into  the  studj^  and  said,  "  Two 
gentlemen  want  to  see  Master  Osborne."  The  Professor 
had  had  a  trifling  altercation  in  the  morning  with  that 
young  gentleman,  owing  to  a  difl*erence  about  the  in- 
troduction of  crackers  in  school-time;  but  his  face  re- 
sumed its  habitual  expression  of  bland  courtesy,  as  he 
said,  "  Master  Osborne,  I  give  you  full  permission  to  go 
and  see  your  carriage  friends, — to  whom  I  beg  you  to 
convey  the  respectful  compliments  of  myself  and  ]Mrs. 
Veal." 

Georgy  went  into  the  reception-room,  and  saw  two 
strangers,  whom  he  looked  at  with  his  head  up,  in  his 
usual  haughty  manner.  One  was  fat,  with  moustachios, 
and  the  other  was  lean  and  long,  in  a  blue  frock-coat, 
with  a  brown  face,  and  a  grizzled  head. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO       171 

"  ^ly  God,  how  like  he  is!  "  said  the  long  gentleman, 
with  a  start.    "  Can  you  guess  who  we  are,  George?  " 

The  boy's  face  flushed  up,  as  it  did  usually  when  he 
was  moved,  and  his  eyes  brightened.  "  I  don't  know  the 
other,"  he  said,  "  but  I  should  think  you  must  be  ISIajor 
Dobbin." 

Indeed  it  was  our  old  friend.  His  voice  trembled  with 
pleasure  as  he  greeted  the  boy,  and  taking  both  the 
other's  hands  in  his  own,  drew  the  lad  to  him. 

"  Your  mother  has  talked  to  you  about  me — has  she?  " 
he  said. 

"  That  she  has,"  Georgy  answered,  "  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  times." 


CHAPTER  LVII 


EOTHEX 

T  was  one  of  the  many  causes 
for  personal  pride  with  which 
old  Osborne  chose  to  recreate 
himself,  that  Sedley,  his  an- 
cient rival,  enemj^  and  bene- 
factor, was  in  his  last  days  so 
utterly  defeated  and  humili- 
ated, as  to  be  forced  to  accept 
pecuniary  obligations  at  the 
hands  of  the  man  who  had 
most  injured  and  insulted 
him.  The  successful  man  of 
the  world  cursed  the  old  pau- 
per, and  relieved  him  from 
time  to  time.  As  he  fur- 
nished George  with  money  for  his  mother,  he  gave 
the  boy  to  understand  by  hints,  delivered  in  his 
brutal,  coarse  way,  that  George's  maternal  grandfather 
was  but  a  wretched  old  bankrupt  and  dependant, 
and  that  John  Sedley  might  thank  the  man  to  whom 
he  already  owed  ever  so  much  money,  for  the  aid 
which  his  generosity  now  chose  to  administer,  George 
carried  the  pompous  supplies  to  his  mother  and  the 
shattered  old  widower  whom  it  was  now  the  main  busi- 
ness of  her  life  to  tend  and  comfort.  The  little  fellow 
patronised  the  feeble  and  disappointed  old  man. 

17-2 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO       173 

It  may  have  shown  a  want  of  "  proper  pride  "  in  Ame- 
ha  that  she  chose  to  accept  these  money  benefits  at  the 
hands  of  her  father's  enemy.  But  proper  pride  and  this 
poor  lady  had  never  had  much  acquaintance  together.  A 
disposition  naturally  simple  and  demanding  protection; 
a  long  course  of  poverty  and  humility,  of  daily  priva- 
tions, and  hard  words,  of  kind  offices  and  no  returns,  had 
been  her  lot  ever  since  womanhood  almost,  or  since  her 
luckless  marriage  with  George  Osborne.  You  who  see 
your  betters,  bearing  up  under  this  shame  every  day, 
meekly  suffering  under  the  slights  of  fortune,  gentle 
and  unpitied,  poor,  and  rather  despised  for  their  poverty, 
do  you  ever  step  down  from  your  prosperity  and  wash 
the  feet  of  these  poor  wearied  beggars?  The  very 
thought  of  them  is  odious  and  low.  "  There  must  be 
classes— there  must  be  rich  and  poor,"  Dives  says,  smack- 
ing his  claret—  (it  is  well  if  he  even  sends  the  broken 
meat  out  to  Lazarus  sitting  under  the  window ) .  Very 
true ;  but  think  how  mysterious  and  often  unaccountable 
it  is — that  lottery  of  life  which  gives  to  this  man  the 
purple  and  fine  linen,  and  sends  to  the  other  rags  for 
garments  and  dogs  for  comforters. 

So  I  must  own,  that  without  much  repining,  on  the 
contrarj^  with  something  akin  to  gratitude,  Amelia  took 
the  crumbs  that  her  father-in-law  let  drop  now  and  then 
and  with  them  fed  her  own  parent.  Directly  she  imder- 
stood  it  to  be  her  duty,  it  was  this  young  woman's  nature 
(ladies,  she  is  but  thirty  still,  and  we  choose  to  call  her 
a  young  woman  even  at  that  age) — it  was,  I  say,  her 
nature  to  sacrifice  herself  and  to  fling  all  that  she  had 
at  the  feet  of  the  beloved  object.  During  what  long 
thankless  nights  had  she  worked  out  her  Angers  for  little 
Georgy  whilst  at  home  with  her;  what  buft'ets,  scorns, 


17 J*  VANITY   FAIR 

privations,  poverties  had  she  endured  for  father  and  mo- 
ther !  And  in  the  midst  of  all  these  solitary  resignations 
and  unseen  sacrifices,  she  did  not  respect  herself  any 
more  than  the  \^'orld  respected  her ;  but  I  believe  thought 
in  her  heart  that  she  was  a  poor-spirited,  despicable  lit- 
tle creature,  whose  luck  in  life  was  only  too  good  for  her 
merits.  O  you  poor  women !  O  you  poor  secret  martyrs 
and  victims,  whose  life  is  a  torture,  who  are  stretched  on 
racks  in  your  bedrooms,  and  who  lay  your  heads  down 
on  the  block  daily  at  the  drawing-room  table;  every 
man  who  watches  your  pains,  or  peers  into  those  dark 
places  where  the  torture  is  administered  to  you,  must 
pity  you — and — and  thank  God  that  he  has  a  beard.  I 
recollect  seeing,  years  ago,  at  the  prisons  for  idiots  and 
madmen  at  Bicetre,  near  Paris,  a  poor  wretch  bent  down 
under  the  bondage  of  his  imprisonment  and  his  personal 
infirmity,  to  whom  one  of  our  party  gave  a  halfpenny- 
worth of  snufF  in  a  cornet  or  "  screw  "  of  paper.  The 
kindness  was  too  much  for  the  poor  epileptic  creature. 
He  cried  in  an  anguish  of  delight  and  gratitude :  if  any- 
body gave  you  and  me  a  thousand  a  year,  or  saved  our 
lives,  we  could  not  be  so  affected.  And  so,  if  you  prop- 
erly tyrannise  over  a  ^^oman,  you  will  find  a  halfp'orth 
of  kindness  act  upon  her,  and  bring  tears  into  her  eyes, 
as  though  you  were  an  angel  benefiting  her. 

Some  such  boons  as  these  were  the  best  which  For- 
tune allotted  to  poor  little  Amelia.  Her  life,  begun  not 
unprosperously,  had  come  down  to  this — to  a  mean 
prison  and  a  long,  ignoble  bondage.  Little  George 
visited  her  captivity  sometimes,  and  consoled  it  with 
feeble  gleams  of  encouragement.  Russell  Square  was 
the  boundary  of  her  prison :  she  might  walk  thither  occa- 
sionally, but  was  always  back  to  sleep  in  her  cell  at  night ; 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       175 

to  perform  cheerless  duties;  to  watch  bj'  thankless  sick- 
beds ;  to  suffer  the  harassment  and  tj^ranny  of  querulous 
disappointed  old  age.  How  many  thousands  of  peo- 
ple are  there,  women  for  the  most  part,  who  are  doomed 
to  endure  this  long  slavery? — who  are  hospital  nurses 
without  wages,— sisters  of  Charity,  if  you  like,  without 
the  romance  and  the  sentiment  of  sacrifice,— who  strive, 
fast,  watch,  and  suffer,  unpitied ;  and  fade  away  ignobly 
and  unknown.  The  hidden  and  awful  Wisdom  which 
apportions  the  destinies  of  mankind  is  pleased  so  to  hu- 
miliate and  cast  down  the  tender,  good,  and  wise ;  and  to 
set  up  the  selfish,  the  foolish,  or  the  wicked.  Oh,  be 
humble,  my  brother,  in  your  prosperity!  Be  gentle 
with  those  who  are  less  lucky,  if  not  more  deserving. 
Think,  what  right  have  you  to  be  scornful,  whose  virtue 
is  a  deficiency  of  temptation,  whose  success  may  be  a 
chance,  whose  rank  may  be  an  ancestor's  accident,  whose 
prosperity  is  very  likely  a  satire. 

They  buried  Amelia's  mother  in  the  church-yard  at 
Erompton;  upon  just  such  a  rainy,  dark  day,  as  Amelia 
recollected  when  first  she  had  been  there  to  marry 
George.  Her  little  boy  sate  by  her  side  in  pompous  new 
sables.  She  remembered  the  old  pew-woman  and  clerk. 
Her  thoughts  were  away  in  other  times  as  the  parson 
read.  But  that  she  held  George's  hand  in  her  own,  per- 
haps she  would  have  liked  to  change  places  with  .  .  . 
Then,  as  usual,  she  felt  ashamed  of  her  selfish  thoughts, 
and  prayed  ijiwardly  to  be  strengthened  to  do  her  duty. 

So  she  determined  with  all  lier  might  and  strength  to 
try  and  make  her  old  father  happy.  She  slaved,  toiled, 
patched,  and  mended,  sang  and  played  backgammon, 
read  out  the  newspaper,  cooked  dishes,  for  old  Sedley, 


176  VANITY   FAIR 

walked  him  out  sedulously  into  Kensington  Gardens  or 
the  Brompton  I^anes,  listened  to  his  stories  with  untir- 
ing smiles  and  affectionate  hypocrisy,  or  sate  musing  by 
his  side  and  communing  with  her  own  thoughts  and  rem- 
iniscences, as  the  old  man,  feeble  and  querulous,  sunned 
himself  on  the  garden  benches  and  prattled  about  his 
wrongs  or  his  sorrows.  What  sad,  unsatisfactory 
thou^'hts  those  of  the  widow  were!  The  children  run- 
ning up  and  down  the  slopes  and  broad  paths  in  the 
gardens,  reminded  her  of  George  who  was  taken  from 
her:  tiie  first  George  was  taken  from  her:  her  selfish, 
guilty  love,  in  both  instances,  had  been  rebuked  and 
bitterly  chastised.  She  strove  to  think  it  was  right  that 
she  should  be  so  punished.  She  was  such  a  miserable 
wicked  sinner.     She  was  quite  alone  in  the  world. 

I  know  that  the  account  of  this  kind  of  solitary  impris- 
onment is  insufferably  tedious,  unless  there  is  some 
cheerful  or  humorous  incident  to  enliven  it, — a  tender 
gaoler,  for  instance,  or  a  waggish  commandant  of  the 
fortress,  or  a  mouse  to  come  out  and  play  about  Latude's 
beard  and  whiskers,  or  a  subterranean  passage  under 
the  castle,  dug  by  Trenck  with  his  nails  and  a  toothpick : 
the  historian  has  no  such  enlivening  incident  to  relate  in 
the  narrative  of  Amelia's  captivity.  Fancy  her,  if  you 
please,  during  this  period,  very  sad,  but  always  ready  to 
smile  when  spoken  to;  in  a  very  mean,  poor,  not  to  say 
vulgar  position  of  life ;  singing  songs,  making  puddings, 
playing  cards,  mending  stockings,  for  her  old  father's 
benefit.  So,  never  mind,  whether  she  be  a  heroine  or 
no;  or  you  and  I,  however  old,  scolding,  and  bankrupt; 
— may  we  have  in  our  last  days  a  kind  soft  shoulder  on 
which  to  lean,  and  a  gentle  hand  to  soothe  our  gouty  old 
pillows. 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT    A   HERO       177 

Old  Sedlev  o-rew  very  fond  of  his  daughter  after  his 
wife's  death;  and  Amelia  had  her  consolation  in  doing 
her  duty  by  tlie  old  man. 

But  we  are  not  going  to  leave  these  two  people  long 
in  such  a  low  and  ungenteel  station  of  life.  Better  days, 
as  far  as  worldly  prosperity  went,  were  in  store  for  both. 
Perhaps  the  ingenious  reader  has  guessed  who  was  the 
stout  gentleman  who  called  upon  Georgy  at  his  school  in 
company  with  our  old  friend  INIajor  Dobbin.  It  was  an- 
other old  acquaintance  returned  to  England,  and  at  a 
time  when  liis  presence  was  likely  to  be  of  great  comfort 
to  his  relatives  there. 

31a j  or  Dobbin  having  easily  succeeded  in  getting 
leave  from  his  good-natured  commandant  to  proceed  to 
^ladras,  and  thence  probably  to  Europe,  on  urgent  pri- 
vate affairs,  never  ceased  travelling  night  and  day  until 
he  reached  his  journey's  end,  and  had  directed  his  march 
with  such  celerity,  that  he  arrived  at  Madras  in  a  high 
fever.  His  servants  who  accompanied  him,  brought  him 
to  the  house  of  the  friend  with  whom  he  had  resolved  to 
stay  until  his  departure  for  Europe  in  a  state  of  de- 
lirium: and  it  was  thought  for  many,  many  days  that 
he  would  never  travel  farther  than  the  burying-ground 
of  the  church  of  St.  George's,  where  the  troops  should 
fire  a  salvo  over  his  grave,  and  where  many  a  gallant 
officer  lies  far  away  from  his  home. 

Here,  as  the  ])oor  fellow  lay  tossing  in  his  fever,  the 
people  who  watclied  him  might  have  heard  him  raving 
about  Amelia.  The  idea  tliat  he  sliould  never  see  her 
again  depressed  him  in  his  lucid  hours.  He  thought  his 
last  day  was  come ;  and  he  made  his  solemn  pre])arations 
for  departure:  setting  his  affairs  in  this  world  in  order, 
and  leaving  the  little  property  of  which  lie  was  possessed 


178  VANITY   FAIR 

to  those  whom  he  most  desired  to  benefit.  The  friend 
in  whose  house  he  was  located  witnessed  his  testament. 
He  desired  to  be  buried  with  a  Httle  brown  hair-chain 
which  he  wore  round  his  neck,  and  which,  if  the  truth 
must  be  known,  he  had  got  from  Amelia's  maid  at  Brus- 
sels, when  the  young  widow's  hair  was  cut  off,  during  the 
fever  which  prostrated  her  after  the  death  of  George 
Osborne  on  the  plateau  at  Mount  St.  John. 

He  recovered,  rallied,  relapsed  again,  having  under- 
gone such  a  process  of  blood-letting  and  calomel  as 
showed  the  strength  of  his  original  constitution.  He  was 
almost  a  skeleton  when  they  put  him  on  board  the  Ram- 
chunder  East  Indiaman,  Captain  Bragg,  from  Calcutta, 
touching  at  IMadras ;  and  so  weak  and  prostrate,  that  his 
friend  who  had  tended  him  through  his  illness,  prophe- 
sied that  the  honest  Major  would  never  survive  the  voy- 
age, and  that  he  would  pass  some  morning,  shrouded  in 
flag  and  hammock,  over  the  ship's  side,  and  carrying 
down  to  the  sea  with  him  the  relic  that  he  wore  at  his 
heart.  But  whether  it  was  the  sea  air,  or  the  hope  which 
sprung  up  in  him  afresh,  from  the  day  that  the  ship 
spread  her  canvas  and  stood  out  of  the  roads  towards 
home,  our  friend  began  to  amend,  and  he  was  quite  well 
(though  as  gaunt  as  a  greyhound)  before  they  reached 
the  Cape.  "  Kirk  will  be  disappointed  of  his  majority 
this  time,"  he  said,  with  a  smile:  "  he  will  expect  to  find 
himself  gazetted  by  the  time  the  regiment  reaches  home." 
For  it  must  be  premised  that  while  the  Major  was  lying 
ill  at  Madras,  having  made  such  prodigious  haste  to  go 
thither,  the  gallant  —  th,  which  had  passed  many  years 
abroad,  which  after  its  return  from  the  West  Indies  had 
been  baulked  of  its  stay  at  home  by  the  Waterloo  cam- 
paign, and  had  been  ordered  from  Flanders  to  India, 


A   XOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO       179 

had  received  orders  home;  and  the  Major  might  have  ac- 
companied his  comrades,  had  he  chosen  to  wait  for  their 
arrival  at  ^Madras. 

Perhaps  he  was  not  inchned  to  j^ut  himself  in  his  ex- 
hausted state  again  under  the  guardianship  of  Glorvina. 
"  I  think  JNliss  O'Dowd  would  have  done  for  me,"  he 
said,  laughingly,  to  a  fellow-passenger,  "  if  we  had  had 
her  on  board,  and  when  she  had  sunk  me,  she  would  have 
fallen  upon  you,  depend  upon  it,  and  carried  you  in  as  a 
prize  to  Southampton,  Jos,  my  boy." 

For  indeed  it  was  no  other  than  our  stout  friend  who 
was  also  a  passenger  on  board  the  Ramchunder.  He 
had  passed  ten  years  in  Bengal. — Constant  dinners, 
tiffins,  pale  ale  and  claret,  the  prodigious  labour  of 
cutcherry,  and  the  refreshment  of  brandy-pawnee  which 
he  was  forced  to  take  there,  had  their  effect  upon  Water- 
loo Sedley.  A  voyage  to  Europe  was  pronounced  neces- 
sary for  him— and  having  served  his  full  time  in  India, 
and  had  fine  appointments  which  had  enabled  him  to  lay 
by  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  he  was  free  to  come 
home  and  stay  with  a  good  pension,  or  to  return  and  re- 
sume that  rank  in  the  service  to  which  his  seniority  and 
his  vast  talents  entitled  him. 

He  was  rather  thinner  than  when  we  last  saw  him, 
but  had  gained  in  majesty  and  solemnity  of  demeanour. 
He  had  resumed  the  moustachios  to  which  his  services 
at  Waterloo  entitled  him,  and  swaggered  about  on  deck 
in  a  magnificent  velvet  cap  with  a  gold  band,  and  a  pro- 
fuse ornamentation  of  pins  and  jewellery  about  his  per- 
son. He  took  breakfast  in  his  cabin,  and  dressed  as 
solemnly  to  appear  on  the  quarter-deck,  as  if  he  were 
going  to  turn  out  for  Bond  Street,  or  the  Course  at 
Calcutta.     He  brouglit  a  native  servant  witli  him,  wlio 


180  VANITY    FAIR 

was  his  valet  and  pipe-bearer;  and  who  wore  the  Sedley 
crest  in  silver  on  his  turban.  That  oriental  menial  had 
a  wretched  life  under  the  tyranny  of  Jos  Sedley.  Jos 
was  as  vain  of  his  person  as  a  woman,  and  took  as  long  a 
time  at  his  toilette  as  any  fading  beauty.  The  young- 
sters among  the  passengers,  Young  Chaffers  of  the 
150th,  and  poor  little  Ricketts,  coming  home  after  his 
third  fever,  used  to  draw  out  Sedley  at  the  cuddy-table, 
and  make  him  tell  prodigious  stories  about  himself  and 
his  exploits  against  tigers  and  Napoleon.  He  was  great 
when  he  visited  the  Emperor's  tomb  at  Longwood,  when 
to  these  gentlemen  and  the  young  officers  of  the  ship, 
Major  Dobbin  not  being  by,  he  described  the  whole  bat- 
tle of  Waterloo,  and  all  but  announced  that  Napoleon 
never  would  have  gone  to  Saint  Helena  at  all  but  for 
him,  Jos  Sedley. 

After  leaving  St.  Helena  he  became  very  generous, 
disposing  of  a  great  quantity  of  ship  stores,  claret,  pre- 
served meats,  and  great  casks  packed  with  soda-water, 
brought  out  for  his  private  delectation.  There  were  no 
ladies  on  board:  the  Major  gave  the  pas  of  precedency 
to  the  civilian,  so  that  he  was  the  first  dignitary  at  table ; 
and  treated  by  Captain  Bragg,  and  the  officers  of  the 
Ramchunder,  with  the  respect  which  his  rank  warranted. 
He  disappeared  rather  in  a  panic  during  a  two-days' 
gale,  in  which  he  had  the  portholes  of  his  cabin  battened 
down ;  and  remained  in  his  cot  reading  the  "  Washer- 
woman of  Finchley  Common,"  left  on  board  the  Ram- 
chunder by  the  Right  Honourable  the  Lady  Emily 
Hornblower,  wife  of  the  Rev.  Silas  Hornblower,  when 
on  their  passage  out  to  the  Cape,  where  the  reverend 
gentleman  was  a  missionary:  but,  for  common  reading, 
he  had  brought  a  stock  of  novels  and  plays  which  he 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       181 

lent  to  the  rest  of  the  ship,  and  rendered  himself  agree- 
able to  all  bv  his  kindness  and  condescension. 

ft' 

Many  and  many  a  night  as  the  ship  was  cutting 
through  the  roaring  dark  sea,  the  moon  and  stars  shining 
overhead,  and  the  bell  singing  out  the  watch,  Mr.  Sedley 
and  the  jNIajor  would  sit  on  the  quarter-deck  of  the  ves- 
sel talking  about  home,  as  the  jNIajor  smoked  his  cheroot, 
and  the  civilian  puffed  at  the  hookah  which  his  servant 
prepared  for  him. 

In  these  conversations  it  was  wonderful  with  what 
perseverance  and  ingenuity  Major  Dobbin  would  man- 
age to  bring  the  talk  round  to  the  subject  of  Amelia  and 
her  little  boy.  Jos,  a  little  testy  about  his  father's  mis- 
fortunes and  unceremonious  applications  to  him,  was 
soothed  down  by  the  Major,  who  pointed  out  the  elder's 
ill  fortunes  and  old  age.  He  would  not  perhaps  like  to 
live  with  the  old  couple :  whose  ways  and  hours  might  not 
agree  with  those  of  a  younger  man,  accustomed  to  differ- 
ent society,  (Jos  bowed  at  this  compliment) :  but,  the 
Major  pointed  out,  how  advantageous  it  would  be  for 
Jos  Sedley  to  have  a  house  of  his  own  in  London,  and 
not  a  mere  bachelor's  establishment  as  before:  how  his 
sister  Amelia  would  be  the  very  person  to  preside  over 
it;  how  elegant,  how  gentle  she  was,  and  of  what  re- 
fined ffood  manners.  He  recounted  stories  of  the  success 
which  INIrs.  George  Osborne  had  had  in  former  days 
at  Brussels,  and  in  London,  where  she  was  much  ad- 
mired by  people  of  very  great  fashion:  and  he  then 
hinted  how  becoming  it  would  be  for  Jos  to  send 
Georgy  to  a  good  school  and  make  a  man  of  him;  for 
liis  mother  and  her  parents  would  be  sure  to  spoil  him. 
In  a  word,  this  artful  Major  made  the  civilian  promise 
to  take  charge  of  Ameha  and  her  unprotected  child. 

VOL.  III. 


182 


VANITY   FAIR 


He  did  not  know  as  yet  what  events  had  happened  in 
the  httle  Sedley  family:  and  how  death  had  removed 
the  mother,  and  riches  had  carried  off  George  from 


Ameha.  But  the  fact  is,  that  every  day  and  always, 
this  love-smitten  and  middle-aged  gentleman  was  think- 
ing about  Mrs.  Osborne,  and  his  whole  heart  was  bent 
upon  doing  her  good.  He  coaxed,  wheedled,  cajoled, 
and  complimented  Jos  Sedley  with  a  perseverance  and 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO       183 

cordiality  of  which  he  was  not  aware  himself,  very  likely ; 
but  some  men  who  have  unmarried  sisters  or  daughters 
even,  mav  remember  how  uncommonlv  aoreeable  aen- 
tlemen  are  to  the  male  relations  when  they  are  courting 
the  females;  and  perhaps  this  rogue  of  a  Dobbin  was 
urged  by  a  similar  hypocris^^ 

The  truth  is,  when  JNIajor  Dobbin  came  on  board  the 
Ramchunder,  very  sick,  and  for  the  three  days  she  lay 
in  the  IMadras  Roads,  he  did  not  begin  to  rally,  nor  did 
even  the  appearance  and  recognition  of  his  old  acquain- 
tance, ]Mr.  Sedley,  on  board  much  cheer  him,  until  after 
a  conversation  which  they  had  one  day,  as  the  INIajor 
was  laid  languidly  on  the  deck.  He  said  then  he  thought 
he  was  doomed ;  he  had  left  a  little  something  to  his  god- 
son in  his  will;  and  he  trusted  jNIrs.  Osborne  would  re- 
member him  kindly,  and  be  happy  in  the  marriage  she 
was  about  to  make.  "  ^Married?  not  the  least,"  Jos  an- 
swered: "  he  had  heard  from  her:  she  made  no  mention 
of  the  marriage,  and  by  the  way,  it  was  curious,  she  w^rote 
to  say  that  jNIajor  Dobbin  was  going  to  be  married,  and 
hoped  that  he  would  be  happy."  What  were  the  dates 
of  Sedley's  letters  from  Europe?  The  civilian  fetched 
them.  Thev  were  two  months  later  than  the  JNIaior's; 
and  the  ship's  surgeon  congratulated  himself  upon  the 
treatment  adopted  by  him  towards  his  new  patient,  who 
had  been  consigned  to  ship-board  by  the  JNladras  ]:)rac- 
titioner  with  very  small  liopes  indeed ;  for,  from  that  day, 
the  very  day  that  he  changed  the  draught.  Major  Dob- 
bin began  to  mend.  And  thus  it  was  that  desei'ving  offi- 
cer, Captain  Kirk,  was  disappointed  of  his  majority. 

After  they  passed  St.  Helena,  ^lajor  Dobbin's  gaiety 
and  strength  were  such  as  to  astonish  all  his  fellow- 
passengers.     He  larked  with  the  midshipmen,  played 


184  VANITY    FAIR 

single-stick  with  the  mates,  ran  up  the  shrouds  Hke  a 
boy,  sang  a  comic  song  one  night  to  the  amusement  of 
the  whole  party  assembled  over  their  grog  after  supper, 
and  rendered  himself  so  gay,  lively,  and  amiable,  that 
even  Captain  Bragg,  who  thought  there  was  nothing  in 
his  passenger,  and  considered  he  was  a  poor-spirited 
feller  at  first,  was  constrained  to  own  that  the  Major 
was  a  reserved  but  well-informed  and  meritorious  officer. 
"  He  ain't  got  distangy  manners,  dammy,"  Bragg  ob- 
served to  his  first  mate;  "  he  wouldn't  do  at  Government 
House,  Roper,  where  his  Lordship  and  Lady  William 
was  as  kind  to  me,  and  shook  hands  with  me  before  the 
whole  company,  and  asking  me  at  dinner  to  take  beer 
with  him,  before  the  Commander-in-Chief  himself;  he 
ain't  got  manners,  but  there's  something  about  him — " 
And  thus  Captain  Bragg  showed  that  he  possessed  dis- 
crimination as  a  man,  as  well  as  ability  as  a  commander. 
But  a  calm  taking  place  when  the  Ramchunder  was 
within  ten  days'  sail  of  England,  Dobbin  became  so  im- 
patient and  ill-humoured  as  to  surprise  those  comrades 
who  had  before  admired  his  vivacity  and  good  temper. 
He  did  not  recover  until  the  breeze  sprang  up  again,  and 
was  in  a  highly  excited  state  when  the  pilot  came  on 
board.  Good  God,  how  his  heart  beat  as  the  two  friendly 
spires  of  Southampton  came  in  sight. 


CHAPTER  LVIII 


OUR  FRIEND  THE  MAJOR 

ijjUR  Major  had  rendered  him- 
self so  popular  on  board 
the  Ramchunder,  that 
when  he  and  Mr.  Sedley 
'  descended  into  the  wel- 
come shore-boat  which  was 
to  take  them  from  the  ship, 
the  whole  crew,  men  and 
officers,  the  great  Captain 
Bragg  himself  leading  off, 
gave  three  cheers  for  JMa- 
jor  Dobbin,  who  blushed 
very  much,  and  ducked  his 
head  in  token  of  thanks. 
Jos,  who  very  likely  thought  the  cheers  were  for  him- 
self, took  off  his  gold-laced  cap  and  waved  it  majesti- 
cally to  his  friends,  and  they  were  pulled  to  shore  and 
landed  with  great  dignity  at  the  pier,  whence  they  pro- 
ceeded to  the  Royal  George  Hotel. 

Although  the  sight  of  that  magnificent  round  of  beef, 
'  and  the  siher  tankard  suggestive  of  real  British  home- 
brewed ale  and  porter,  which  perennially  greet  the  eyes 
of  the  traveller  returning  from  foreign  parts,  who  enters 
the  coffee-room  of  the  George,  are  so  invigorating  and 
(lehglitful,  that  a  man  entering  such  a  comfortable  snug 
homely  Enghsh  inn,  might  well  like  to  stop  some  days 

185 


186  VANITY   FAIR 

there,  yet  Dobbin  began  to  talk  about  a  post-chaise  in- 
stantly, and  was  no  sooner  at  Southampton  than  he 
wished  to  be  on  the  road  to  London.  Jos,  however, 
would  not  hear  of  moving  that  evening.  Why  was  he 
to  pass  a  night  in  a  post-chaise  instead  of  a  great  large 
undulating  downy  feather  bed  which  was  there  ready  to 
replace  the  horrid  little  narrow  crib  in  which  the  portly 
Bengal  gentleman  had  been  confined  during  the  voyage? 
He  could  not  think  of  moving  till  his  baggage  was 
cleared,  or  of  travelling  until  he  could  do  so  with  his 
chillum.  So  the  Major  was  forced  to  wait  over  that 
night,  and  despatched  a  letter  to  his  family  announcing 
his  arrival ;  entreating  from  Jos  a  promise  to  write  to  his 
own  friends.  Jos  promised,  but  didn't  keep  his  promise. 
The  Captain,  the  surgeon,  and  one  or  two  passengers 
came  and  dined  with  our  two  gentlemen  at  the  inn ;  Jos 
exerting  himself  in  a  sumptuous  way  in  ordering  the 
dinner:  and  promising  to  go  to  town  the  next  day  with 
the  Major.  The  landlord  said  it  did  his  eyes  good  to 
see  Mr.  Sedley  take  off  his  first  pint  of  porter.  If  I  had 
time  and  dared  to  enter  into  digressions,  I  would  write  a 
chapter  about  that  first  pint  of  porter  drunk  upon  Eng- 
lish ground.  All,  how  good  it  is!  It  is  worth  while  to 
leave  home  for  a  year,  just  to  enjoy  that  one  draught. 

Major  Dobbin  made  his  appearance  the  next  morning 
very  neatly  shaved  and  dressed,  according  to  his  wont. 
Indeed,  it  was  so  early  in  the  morning,  that  nobody  was 
up  in  the  house  except  that  wonderful  Boots  of  an  inn 
who  never  seems  to  want  sleep:  and  the  Major  could 
hear  the  snores  of  the  various  inmates  of  the  house  roar- 
ing through  the  corridors  as  he  creaked  about  in  those 
dim  passages.  Then  the  sleepless  Boots  went  shirking 
round  from  door  to  door,   gathering  up   at  each  the 


Ill  ..■..'■ 


I  ! 
I  I 

I    : 

I    i  I 

I 


1 11'-^ 


Mr.  Joa's  Hookahbadar 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO       187 

Bluchers,  Wellingtons,  Oxonians,  which  stood  outside. 
Then  Jos's  native  servant  arose  and  began  to  get  ready 
his  master's  ponderous  dressing  apparatus,  and  prepare 
his  hookah :  then  the  maid  servants  got  up,  and  meeting 
the  dark  man  in  the  passages,  shrieked,  and  mistook  him 
for  the  devil.  He  and  Dobbin  stumbled  over  their  pails 
in  the  passages  as  they  were  scouring  the  decks  of  the 
Royal  George.  When  the  first  unshorn  waiter  appeared 
and  unbarred  the  door  of  the  inn,  the  Major  thought 
that  the  time  for  departure  was  arrived,  and  ordered 
a  post-chaise  to  be  fetched  instantly,  that  they  might 
set  off. 

He  then  directed  his  steps  to  Mr.  Sedley's  room,  and 
opened  the  curtains  of  the  great  large  family  bed 
wherein  JNIr.  Jos  was  snoring.  "  Come,  up!  Sedley,"  the 
Major  said,  "  it's  time  to  be  off;  the  chaise  will  be  at  the 
door  in  half  an  hour." 

Jos  growled  from  under  the  counterpane  to  know 
what  the  time  was;  but  when  he  at  last  extorted  from 
the  blushing  jSIajor  (who  never  told  fibs,  however  they 
might  be  to  his  advantage )  what  was  the  real  hour  of  the 
morning,  he  broke  out  into  a  volley  of  bad  language, 
which  we  will  not  repeat  here,  but  by  which  he  gave  Dob- 
bin to  understand  that  he  would  jeopardy  his  soul  if  he 
got  up  at  that  moment,  that  the  Major  might  go  and 
be  hanged,  that  he  would  not  travel  with  Dobbin,  and 
that  it  was  most  unkind  and  ungentlemanlike  to  disturb 
a  man  out  of  his  sleep  in  that  way ;  on  which  the  discom- 
fited Major  was  obliged  to  retreat,  leaving  Jos  to  re- 
sume his  interrupted  slumbers. 

The  chaise  came  up  presently,  and  the  Major  would 
wait  no  longer. 

If  he  had  been  an  English  nobleman  travelling  on  a 


188  VANITY   FAIR 

pleasure  tour,  or  a  newspaper  courier  bearing  despatches 
( government  messages  are  generally  carried  much  more 
quietly) ,  he  could  not  have  travelled  more  quickly.  The 
post-boys  wondered  at  the  fees  he  flung  amongst  them. 
How  happy  and  green  the  country  looked  as  the  chaise 
whirled  rapidly  from  mile-stone  to  mile-stone,  through 
neat  country  towns  where  landlords  came  out  to  wel- 
come him  with  smiles  and  bows ;  by  pretty  road-side  inns, 
where  the  signs  hung  on  the  elms,  and  horses  and  wag- 
goners were  drinking  under  the  chequered  shadow  of 
the  trees ;  by  old  halls  and  parks ;  rustic  hamlets  clustered 
round  ancient  grey  churches — and  through  the  charm- 
ing friendly  English  landscape.  Is  there  any  in  the 
world  like  it?  To  a  traveller  returning  home  it  looks 
so  kind — it  seems  to  shake  hands  with  you  as  you  pass 
through  it.  Well,  JNIajor  Dobbin  passed  through  all 
this  from  Southampton  to  London,  and  without  noting 
much  beyond  the  mile-stones  along  the  road.  You  see 
he  was  so  eager  to  see  his  parents  at  Camberwell. 

He  grudged  the  time  lost  between  Piccadilly  and  his 
old  haunt  at  the  Slaughters',  whither  he  drove  faith- 
fully. Long  years  had  passed  since  he  saw  it  last,  since 
he  and  George,  as  young  men,  had  enjoyed  many  a 
feast,  and  held  many  a  revel  there.  He  had  now  passed 
into  the  stage  of  old-fellow-hood.  His  hair  was  griz- 
zled, and  many  a  passion  and  feeling  of  his  youth  had 
grown  grey  in  that  interval.  There,  however,  stood  the 
old  waiter  at  the  door,  in  the  same  greasy  black  suit, 
with  the  same  double  chin  and  flaccid  face,  with  the  same 
huge  bunch  of  seals  at  his  fob,  rattling  his  money  in  his 
pockets  as  before,  and  receiving  the  Major  as  if  he  had 
gone  away  only  a  week  ago.  "  Put  the  Major's  things 
in  twenty-three,  that's  his  room,"  John  said,  exhibiting 


A   NOVEL    WITHOUT   A   HERO       189 

not  the  least  surprise.  "  Roast  fowl  for  your  dinner, 
I  suppose.  You  ain't  got  married  ?  They  said  you  was 
married — the  Scotch  surgeon  of  yours  was  here.  No, 
it  was  Captain  Humby  of  the  thirty-third,  as  was  quar- 
tered with  the  —  th  in  Injee.  Like  any  warm  water? 
AVhat  do  you  come  in  a  chay  for — ain't  the  coach  good 
enough?"  And  with  this,  the  faithful  waiter,  who 
knew  and  remembered  every  officer  who  used  the  house, 
and  with  whom  ten  years  were  but  as  yesterday,  led  the 
way  up  to  Dobbin's  old  room,  where  stood  the  great  mo- 
reen bed,  and  the  shabby  carpet,  a  thought  more  dingy, 
and  all  the  old  black  furniture  covered  with  faded  chintz, 
just  as  the  ^Major  recollected  them  in  his  youth. 

He  remembered  George  pacing  up  and  down  the 
room,  and  biting  his  nails,  and  swearing  that  the  Gov- 
ernor must  come  round,  and  that  if  he  didn't,  he  didn't 
care  a  straw,  on  the  day  before  he  was  married.  He 
could  fancy  him  walking  in,  banging  the  door  of  Dob- 
bin's room,  and  his  own  hard  by — 

"  You  ain't  got  young,"  John  said,  calmly  surveying 
his  friend  of  former  days. 

Dobbin  laughed.  "  Ten  years  and  a  fever  don't  make 
a  man  young,  John,"  he  said.  "  It  is  you  that  are  always 
young: — No  you  are  always  old." 

"  What  became  of  Captain  Osborne's  widow?  "  John 
said.  "  Fine  voung  fellow  that.  Lord,  how  he  used  to 
spend  his  money.  He  never  came  back  after  that  day 
he  was  married  from  here.  He  owes  me  three  pound  at 
tliis  minute.  Look  here,  I  have  it  in  my  book.  '  April 
10,  1815,  Captain  Osborne:  3/.^  I- wonder  whether  liis 
father  would  ])ay  me,"  and  so  saying,  Jolm  of  the 
Slaughters'  pulled  out  the  very  morocco  pocket-book  in 
which  he  had  noted  his  loan  to  the  Ca])taiM,  upon  a 


190  VANITY   FAIR 

greasy  faded  page  still  extant,  with  many  other  scrawled 
memoranda  regarding  the  bygone  frequenters  of  the 
house. 

Having  inducted  his  customer  into  the  room,  John  re- 
tired with  perfect  calmness;  and  Major  Dobbin,  not 
without  a  blush  and  a  grin  at  his  own  absurdity,  chose 
out  of  his  kit  the  verv  smartest  and  most  becoming;  civil 
costume  he  possessed,  and  laughed  at  his  own  tanned 
face  and  grey  hair,  as  he  surveyed  them  in  the  dreary 
little  toilet-glass  on  the  dressing-table. 

"  I'm  glad  old  John  didn't  forget  me,"  he  thought. 
"  She'll  know  me,  too,  I  hope."  And  he  sallied  out  of 
the  inn,  bending  his  steps  once  more  in  the  direction  of 
Brompton. 

Every  minute  incident  of  his  last  meeting  with  Ame- 
lia was  present  to  the  constant  man's  mind  as  he  walked 
towards  her  house.  The  arch  and  the  Achilles  statue 
were  up  since  he  had  last  been  in  Piccadilly;  a  hundred 
changes  had  occurred  which  his  eye  and  mind  vaguely 
noted.  He  began  to  tremble  as  he  walked  up  the  lane 
from  Brompton,  that  well-remembered  lane  leading  to 
the  street  where  she  lived.  Was  she  going  to  be  married 
or  not?  If  he  were  to  meet  her  with  the  little  boy — Good 
God,  what  should  he  do?  He  saw  a  woman  coming  to 
him  with  a  child  of  five  years  old — was  that  she?  He 
began  to  shake  at  the  mere  possibility.  When  he  came 
up  to  the  row  of  houses,  at  last,  where  she  lived,  and  to 
the  gate,  he  caught  hold  of  it  and  paused.  He  might 
have  heard  the  thumping  of  his  own  heart.  "  May  God 
Almighty  bless  her,  whatever  has  happened,"  he  thought 
to  himself.  "Psha!  she  may  be  gone  from  here,"  he 
said,  and  went  in  through  the  gate. 

The  window  of  the  parlour  which  she  used  to  occupy 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       191 

was  open,  and  there  were  no  inmates  in  the  room.  The 
INIajor  thought  he  recognised  the  piano,  though,  with 
the  picture  over  it,  as  it  used  to  be  in  former  days,  and 
his  perturbations  were  renewed.  JNIr.  Clapp's  brass  plate 
was  still  on  the  door,  at  the  knocker  of  which  Dobbin 
performed  a  smnmons. 

A  buxom-looking  lass  of  sixteen,  with  bright  eyes  and 
purple  cheeks,  came  to  answer  the  knock,  and  looked 
hard  at  the  Major  as  he  leant  back  against  the  little 
porch. 

He  was  as  pale  as  a  ghost,  and  could  hardly  falter 
out  the  words — "  Does  Mrs.  Osborne  live  here?  " 

She  looked  him  hard  in  the  face  for  a  moment — and 
then  turning  white  too — said,  "  Lord  bless  me — it's  Ma- 
jor Dobbin."  She  held  out  both  her  hands  shaking — 
"  Don't  vou  remember  me?  "  she  said.  "  I  used  to  call 
you  Major  Sugarplums."  On  which,  and  I  believe  it 
was  for  the  first  time  that  he  ever  so  conducted  himself 
in  his  life,  the  Major  took  the  girl  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her.  She  began  to  laugh  and  cry  hysterically, 
and  calling  out  "  Ma,  Pa! "  with  all  her  voice, 
brought  up  those  worthy  people,  who  had  already 
been  surveying  the  Major  from  the  casement  of  the 
ornamental  kitchen,  and  were  astonished  to  find  their 
daughter  in  the  little  passage  in  the  embrace  of  a 
great  tall  man  in  a  blue  frock-coat  and  white  duck 
trowsers. 

"  I'm  an  old  friend,"  he  said — not  without  blushing 
though.  "  Don't  you  remember  me,  jNIrs.  Clapp,  and 
those  good  cakes  you  used  to  make  for  tea? — Don't  you 
recollect  me,  Clapp?  I'm  George's  godfather,  and  just 
come  back  from  India?"  A  great  shaking  of  hands 
ensued  — Mrs.  Clapp  was  greatly  affected  and  delighted; 


192  V^ANITY    FAIR 

she  called  upon  heaven  to  interpose  a  vast  many  times 
in  that  passage. 

The  landlord  and  landlady  of  the  house  led  the  wor- 
thy JNIajor  into  the  Sedleys'  room  (whereof  he  remem- 
bered every  single  article  of  furniture,  from  the  old  brass 
ornamented  piano,  once  a  natty  little  instrument,  Stoth- 
ard  maker,  to  the  screens  and  the  alabaster  minia- 
ture tombstone,  in  the  midst  of  which  ticked  ]Mr.  Sed- 
ley's  gold  watch),  and  there  as  he  sat  down  in  the 
lodger's  vacant  arm-chair,  the  father,  the  mother,  and 
the  daughter,  Mdth  a  thousand  ejaculatory  breaks  in  the 
narrative,  informed  Major  Dobbin  of  what  we  know 
already,  but  of  particulars  in  Amelia's  historj^  of  which 
he  was  not  aware — namely  of  Mrs.  Sedley's  death,  of 
George's  reconcilement  with  his  grandfather  Osborne, 
of  the  way  in  which  the  widow  took  on  at  leaving  him, 
and  of  other  particulars  of  her  life.  Twice  or  thrice  he 
was  going  to  ask  about  the  marriage  question,  but  his 
heart  failed  him.  He  did  not  care  to  lay  it  bare  to  these 
people.  Finally,  he  was  informed  that  Mrs.  O.  was  gone 
to  walk  with  her  Pa  in  Kensington  Gardens,  whither 
she  always  went  with  the  old  gentleman  (who  was  very 
weak  and  peevish  now,  and  led  her  a  sad  life,  though  she 
behaved  to  him  like  an  angel,  to  be  sure, )  of  a  fine  after- 
noon after  dinner. 

"  I'm  very  much  pressed  for  time,"  the  Major  said, 
"  and  have  business  to-night  of  importance.  I  should 
like  to  see  Mrs.  Osborne  tho'.  Suppose  Miss  Polly 
would  come  with  me  and  show  me  the  way." 

Miss  Polly  was  charmed  and  astonished  at  this  pro- 
posal. She  knew  the  way.  She  would  show  Major 
Dobbin.  She  had  often  been  with  JNIr.  Sedley  when 
Mrs.  O.  was  gone — was  gone  Russell  Square  way:  and 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       193 

knew  the  bench  where  he  liked  to  sit.  She  bounced  away 
to  her  apartment,  and  appeared  presently  in  her  best 
bonnet  and  her  mamma's  yellow  shawl  and  large  pebble 
brooch,  of  which  she  assumed  the  loan  in  order  to  make 
herself  a  worthy  companion  for  the  JNIajor. 

That  officer,  then,  in  his  blue  frock-coat  and  buckskin 
gloves,  gave  the  young  lady  his  arm,  and  they  walked 
away  very  gaily.  He  was  glad  to  have  a  friend  at  hand 
for  tlie  scene  which  he  dreaded  somehow.  He  asked  a 
thousand  more  questions  from  his  companion  about 
Amelia:  his  kind  heart  grieved  to  think  that  she  should 
have  had  to  part  with  her  son.  How  did  she  bear  it? 
Did  she  see  him  often?  Was  ^Ir.  Sedley  pretty  com- 
fortable now  in  a  worldly  point  of  view  ?  Polly  answered 
all  these  questions  of  Major  Sugarplums  to  the  very 
best  of  her  power. 

And  in  the  midst  of  their  walk  an  incident  occurred 
which,  though  very  simple  in  its  nature,  was  productive 
of  the  greatest  delight  to  Major  Dobbin.  A  pale  young 
man  with  feeble  whiskers  and  a  stiff  white  neckcloth 
came  walking  down  the  lane,  en  sandwich:— having  a 
lady,  that  is,  on  each  arm.  One  was  a  tall  and  command- 
ing middle-aged  female,  with  features  and  a  complexion 
similar  to  those  of  the  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land by  whose  side  she  marched,  and  the  other  a  stunted 
little  woman  with  a  dark  face,  ornamented  by  a  fine  new 
bonnet  and  white  ribbons,  and  in  a  smart  pelisse  with  a 
rich  gold  watch  in  the  midst  of  her  person.  The  gentle- 
man, pinioned  as  he  was  by  these  two  ladies,  carried  fur- 
ther a  parasol,  shawl,  and  basket,  so  that  his  arms  were 
entirely  engaged,  and  of  course  he  was  unable  to  touch 
his  hat  in  acknowledgment  of  the  curtsey  with  which 
Miss  Mary  Clapp  greeted  him. 


194  VANITY    FAIR 

He  merely  bowed  his  head  in  rej%  to  her  salutation, 
which  the  two  ladies  returned  with  a  patronising  air,  and 
at  the  same  time  looking  severely  at  the  individual  in 
the  blue  coat  and  bamboo  cane,  who  accompanied  Miss 
Polly. 

"Who's  that?"  asked  the  Major,  amused  by  the 
group,  and  after  he  had  made  way  for  the  three  to  pass 
up  the  lane.     Mary  looked  at  him  rather  roguishly. 

"  That  is  our  curate,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Binny  (a 
twitch  from  Major  Dobbin),  and  his  sister  Miss  B. 
Lord  bless  us,  how  she  did  use  to  worret  us  at  Sunday- 
school;  and  the  other  lady,  the  little  one  with  a  cast  in 
her  eye,  and  the  handsome  watch,  is  Mrs.  Binny— Miss 
Grits  that  was ;  her  Pa  was  a  grocer,  and  kept  the  Little 
Original  Gold  Tea  Pot  in  Kensington  Gravel  Pits. 
They  were  married  last  month,  and  are  just  come  back 
from  Margate.  She's  five  thousand  pound  to  her  for- 
tune; but  her  and  Miss  B.,  who  made  the  match,  have 
quarrelled  already." 

If  the  Major  had  twitched  before,  he  started  now  and 
slaj)ped  the  bamboo  on  the  ground  with  an  emphasis 
which  made  Miss  Clapp  cry,  "  Law,"  and  laugh  too.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  silent  with  open  mouth  looking  after 
the  retreating  young  couple,  while  Miss  Mary  told  their 
history;  but  he  did  not  hear  beyond  the  announcement 
of  the  reverend  gentleman's  marriage;  his  head  was 
swimming  with  felicity.  After  this  rencontre  he  began 
to  walk  double  quick  towards  the  place  of  his  destina- 
tion ;  and  yet  they  were  too  soon  ( for  he  was  in  a  great 
tremor  at  the  idea  of  a  meeting  for  which  he  had  been 
longing  any  time  these  ten  years)  — through  the  Bromp- 
ton  lanes,  and  entering  at  the  little  old  portal  in  Ken- 
sington Garden  wall. 


A  Meeting 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       195 

"  There  they  are,"  said  ^liss  Polly,  and  she  felt  him 
ao'ain  start  back  on  her  arm.  She  was  a  confidante  at 
once  of  the  whole  business.  She  knew  the  story  as  well 
as  if  she  had  read  it  in  one  of  her  favourite  novel-books 
— "  Fatherless  Fanny,"  or  the  "  Scottish  Chiefs." 

"  Suppose  you  were  to  run  on  and  tell  her,"  the  INIajor 
said.  Polly  ran  forward,  her  yellow  shawl  streaming  in 
the  breeze. 

Old  Sedley  was  seated  on  a  bench,  his  handkerchief 
placed  over  his  knees,  prattling  away  according  to  his 
wont,  with  some  old  story  about  old  times,  to  wliich  Ame- 
lia had  listened,  and  awarded  a  patient  smile  many  a 
time  before.  She  could  of  late  think  of  her  own  affairs, 
and  smile  or  make  other  marks  of  recognition  of  her 
father's  stories,  scarcely  hearing  a  word  of  the  old 
man's  tales.  As  jNIary  came  bouncing  along,  and  Ame- 
lia caught  sight  of  her,  she  started  up  from  her  bench. 
Her  first  thought  was,  that  something  had  happened  to 
Georgy;  but  the  sight  of  the  messenger's  eager  and 
happy  face  dissipated  that  fear  in  the  timorous  mother's 
bosom. 

"  News!  Xews!  "  cried  the  emissary  of  JNIajor  Dob- 
bin.   "He's  come!    He's  come!" 

"  Who  is  come?  "  said  Emmy,  still  thinking  of  her  son. 

"  Look  there,"  answered  INIiss  Clapp,  turning  round 
and  pointing;  in  which  direction  Amelia  looking,  saw 
Dob))in's  lean  figure  and  long  shadow  stalking  across 
the  grass.  Amelia  started  in  her  turn,  bluslied  up,  and, 
of  course,  Ijcgan  lo  cry.  At  all  this  sim])le  little  crea- 
tui-e's  fetes,  tlie  ^^randes  eaiuv  were  accustomed  to  play. 

\\v  looked  at  her — oh,  how  fondly — as  she  came  run- 
nlnn-  towards  him,  lier  haiuls  l)efore  her,  ready  to  give 
tbem  to  liiiii.    Slie  wasn't  changed.    She  was  a  little  ])alc: 


196  VANITY   FAIR 

a  little  stouter  in  figure.  Her  eyes  were  the  same,  the 
kind  trustful  eyes.  There  were  scarce  three  lines  of  sil- 
ver in  her  soft  brown  hair.  She  gave  him  both  her  hands 
as  she  looked  up  flushing  and  smiling  through  her  tears 
into  his  honest  homely  face.  He  took  the  two  little 
hands  between  his  two,  and  held  them  there.  He  was 
speechless  for  a  moment.  Why  did  he  not  take  her  in 
his  arms,  and  swear  that  he  would  never  leave  her?  She 
must  have  yielded:  she  could  not  but  have  obeyed  him. 

"  I — I've  another  arrival  to  announce,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause. 

"Mrs.  Dobbin?"  Amelia  said,  making  a  movement 
back — Why  didn't  he  speak? 

"  No,"  he  said,  letting  her  hands  go:  "  Who  has  told 
you  those  lies? — I  mean,  your  brother  Jos  came  in  the 
same  ship  with  me,  and  is  come  home  to  make  you  all 
happy." 

"Papa,  papa!"  Emmy  cried  out,   "here  is  news! 
]\Iy  brother  is  in  England.    He  is  come  to  take  care  of 
you. — Here  is  Major  Dobbin." 

Mr.  Sedley  started  up,  shaking  a  great  deal,  and  gath- 
ering up  his  thoughts.  Then  he  stepped  forward  and 
made  an  old-fashioned  bow  to  the  Major,  whom  he  called 
Mr.  Dobbin,  and  hoped  his  worthy  father.  Sir  William, 
was  quite  well.  He  proposed  to  call  upon  Sir  William, 
who  had  done  him  the  honour  of  a  visit  a  short  time  ago. 
Sir  William  had  not  called  upon  the  old  gentleman  for 
eight  years — it  was  that  visit  he  was  thinking  of  return- 
ing. 

"  He  is  very  much  shaken,"  Emmy  whispered,  as 
Dobbin  went  up  and  cordially  shook  hands  with  the  old 
man. 

Although  he  had  sucli  particular  business  in  London 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT    A   HERO       197 

that  evening,  the  ]Major  consented  to  forego  it  upon  Mr. 
Sedley's  invitation  to  him  to  come  home  and  partake  of 
tea.  Ameha  put  her  arm  under  that  of  her  young  friend 
with  the  yellow  shawl,  and  headed  the  i)arty  on  their 
return  homewards,  so  that  Mr.  Sedley  fell  to  Dobbin's 
share.  The  old  man  walked  very  slowl}^  and  told  a  num- 
ber of  ancient  histories  about  himself  and  his  poor  Bessy, 
his  former  prosperity,  and  his  bankruptcy.  His 
thoughts,  as  is  usual  with  failing  old  men,  wxre  quite 
in  former  times.  The  present,  with  the  exception  of 
the  one  catastrophe  which  he  felt,  he  knew  little  about. 
The  Major  was  glad  to  let  him  talk  on.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  figure  in  front  of  him — the  dear  little 
figure  always  present  to  his  imagination  and  in  his  pray- 
ers, and  visiting  his  dreams  wakeful  or  slumbering. 

Amelia  was  very  happy,  smiling,  and  active  all  that 
evening;  performing  her  duties  as  hostess  of  the  little 
entertainment  with  the  utmost  grace  and  propriety,  as 
Dobbin  thought.  His  eyes  followed  her  about  as  they 
sate  in  the  twilight.  How  many  a  time  had  he  longed 
for  that  moment,  and  thought  of  her  far  away  imder 
hot  winds  and  in  weary  marches,  gentle  and  happy, 
kindly  ministering  to  the  wants  of  old  age,  and  decorat- 
ing poverty  with  sweet  submission — as  he  saw  her  now. 
I  do  not  say  that  his  taste  was  the  highest,  or  that  it  is  the 
(hity  of  great  intellects  to  be  content  with  a  bread-and- 
butter  paradise,  such  as  sufficed  our  simple  old  friend; 
but  his  desires  were  of  this  sort  whether  for  good  or  bad ; 
and,  with  Amelia  to  hel])  him,  lie  was  as  ready  to  drink 
as  many  cups  of  tea  as  Doctor  Johnson. 

Amelia  seeing  this  propensity,  laughingly  encouraged 
it;  and  looked  exceedingly  roguish  as  she  administered 
to  him  Clip  after  cup.     It  is  true  she  did  not  know  that 


198  VANITY   FAIR 

the  Major  had  had  no  dinner,  and  that  the  cloth  was 
laid  for  him  at  the  Slaughters',  and  a  plate  laid  thereon 
to  mark  that  the  table  was  retained,  in  that  very  box  in 
which  the  IVIajor  and  George  had  sate  many  a  time  ca- 
rousing, when  she  was  a  child  just  come  home  from  Miss 
Pinkerton's  school. 

The  first  thing  JNIrs.  Osborne  showed  the  Major  was 
Georgy's  miniature,  for  which  she  ran  up  stairs  on  her 
arrival  at  home.  It  was  not  half  handsome  enough  of 
course  for  the  boy,  but  wasn't  it  noble  of  him  to  think  of 
bringing  it  to  his  mother?  Whilst  her  papa  was  awake 
she  did  not  talk  much  about  Georgy.  To  hear  about 
Mr.  Osborne  and  Russell  Square  was  not  agreeable  to 
the  old  man,  who  very  likely  was  unconscious  that  he 
had  been  living  for  some  months  past  mainly  on  the 
bounty  of  his  richer  rival ;  and  lost  his  temper  if  allusion 
was  made  to  the  other. 

Dobbin  told  him  all,  and  a  little  more  perhaps  than 
all,  that  had  happened  on  board  the  Ramchunder;  and 
exaggerated  Jos's  benevolent  dispositions  towards  liis 
father,  and  resolution  to  make  him  comfortable  in  his  old 
days.  The  truth  is,  that  during  the  voyage  the  Major 
had  impressed  this  duty  most  strongly  upon  his  fellow- 
passenger  and  extorted  promises  from  him  that  he  would 
take  charge  of  his  sister  and  her  child.  He  soothed  Jos's 
irritation  with  regard  to  the  bills  which  the  old  gentle- 
man had  drawn  upon  him,  gave  a  laughing  account  of 
his  own  sufferings  on  the  same  score,  and  of  the  famous 
consignment  of  wine  with  which  the  old  man  had  fa- 
voured him :  and  brought  INIr.  Jos,  who  was  by  no  means 
an  ill-natured  person  when  well  pleased  and  moderately 
flattered,  to  a  very  good  state  of  feeling  regarding  his 
relatives  in  Europe. 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO       199 

And  in  fine  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  the  Major 
stretched  the  truth  so  far  as  to  tell  old  Mr.  Sedley  that  it 
was  mainly  a  desire  to  see  his  parent  which  brought  Jos 
once  more  to  Europe. 

At  his  accustomed  hour  INIr.  Sedley  began  to  doze  in 
his  chair,  and  then  it  was  Amelia's  opportunity  to  com- 
mence her  conversation,  which  she  did  with  great  eager- 
ness;—it  related  exclusively  to  Georgy.  She  did  not 
talk  at  all  about  her  own  sufferings  at  breaking  from 
him,  for  indeed  this  worthy  woman,  though  she  was  half- 
killed  by  the  separation  from  the  child,  yet  thought  it 
was  very  wicked  in  her  to  repine  at  losing  him;  but 
everything  concerning  him,  his  virtues,  talents,  and  pros- 
pects, she  poured  out.  She  described  his  angelic  beauty ; 
narrated  a  hundred  instances  of  his  generosity  and  great- 
ness of  mind  whilst  living  with  her:  how  a  Royal 
Duchess  had  stopped  and  admired  him  in  Kensington 
Gardens ;  how  splendidly  he  was  cared  for  now,  and  how 
he  had  a  groom  and  a  pony;  what  quickness  and  clever- 
ness he  had,  and  what  a  prodigiously^  well-read  and  de- 
lightful person  the  Reverend  Lawrence  Veal  was, 
George's  master.  "  He  knows  everijthing"  Amelia 
said.  "  He  has  the  most  delightful  parties.  You  who 
are  so  learned  yourself,  and  have  read  so  much,  and  are 
so  clever  and  accomplished— don't  shake  your  head  and 
sav  no — He  alwavs  used  to  say  you  were — you  will  be 
charmed  with  Mr.  Veal's  parties.  The  last  Tuesday  in 
every  month.  He  says  there  is  no  place  in  the  bar  or 
the  senate  that  Georgy  may  not  aspire  to.  Look  here," 
and  she  went  to  the  piano-drawer  and  drew  out  a  theme 
of  Georgy 's  composition.  This  great  effort  of  genius, 
which  is  still  in  the  possession  of  George's  mother,  is  as 
follows: 


200  VANITY    FAIR 

On  Selfishness. — Of  all  the  vices  which  degrade  the  human 
character,  Selfishness  is  the  most  odious  and  contemptible.  An 
undue  love  of  Self  leads  to  the  most  monstrous  crimes ;  and  occa- 
sions the  greatest  misfortunes  both  in  States  and  Families.  As 
a  selfish  man  will  impoverish  his  family  and  often  bring  them  to 
ruin :  so  a  selfish  king  brings  ruin  on  his  people  and  often  plunges 
them  into  war. 

Example :  The  selfishness  of  Achilles,  as  remarked  by  the  poet 
Homer,  occasioned  a  thousand  woes  to  the  Greeks — f^vpf  A-xaioiq 
dXye  edr]Ke — (Hom.  II.  A.  2).  The  selfishness  of  the  late  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  occasioned  innumerable  wars  in  Europe,  and  caused 
him  to  perish,  himself,  in  a  miserable  island — that  of  Saint 
Helena  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

We  see  by  these  examples  that  we  are  not  to  consult  our  own 
interest  and  ambition,  but  that  we  are  to  consider  the  interests 
of  others  as  well  as  our  own. 

George  S.  Osborne. 

Athene  House,  24  April,  1827. 

"  Think  of  him  writing  such  a  hand,  and  quoting 
Greek  too,  at  his  age,"  the  delighted  mother  said.  "  O 
William,"  she  added,  holding  out  her  hand  to  the  Major 
— "what  a  treasure  Heaven  has  given  me  in  that  boy! 
He  is  the  comfort  of  my  life — and  he  is  the  image  of — 
of  him  that's  gone!  " 

"  Ought  I  to  be  angry  with  her  for  being  faithful  to 
him?"  William  thought.  "Ought  I  to  be  jealous  of 
my  friend  in  the  grave,  or  hurt  that  such  a  heart  as 
Amelia's  can  love  only  once  and  for  ever?  Oh,  George, 
George,  how  little  you  knew  the  prize  you  had,  though." 
This  sentiment  passed  rapidly  through  William's  mind, 
as  he  was  holding  Amelia's  hand,  whilst  the  handker- 
chief was  veiling  her  eyes. 

"  Dear  friend,"  she  said,  pressing  the  hand  which 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO        201 

held  hers,  "  how  good,  how  kind  you  alwaj^s  have  been 
to  me!  See!  Papa  is  stirring.  You  will  go  and  see 
Georgy  to-morrow,  won't  you?  " 

"  Not  to-morrow,"  said  poor  old  Dobbin.  "  I  have 
business."  He  did  not  like  to  own  that  he  had  not  as  yet 
been  to  his  parents'  and  his  dear  sister  Ann — a  remiss- 
ness for  whieh  I  am  sure  every  well-regulated  person 
will  blame  the  iSlajor.  And  presently  he  took  his  leave, 
leaving  his  address  behind  him  for  Jos,  against  the  lat- 
ter's  arrival.  And  so  the  first  day  was  over,  and  he  had 
seen  her. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  Slaughters',  the  roast  fowl 
was  of  course  cold,  in  which  condition  he  ate  it  for  sup- 
per. And  knowing  what  early  hours  his  family  kept, 
and  that  it  would  be  needless  to  disturb  their  slumbers 
at  so  late  an  hour,  it  is  on  record,  that  Major  Dobbin 
treated  himself  to  half-price  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre 
that  evening,  where  let  us  hope  he  enjoyed  himself. 


CHAPTER    LIX 


THE  OLD  PIANO 


or 


night. 


HE  jMajor's  visit  left  old 
John  Sedley  in  a  great 
state  of  agitation  and  ex- 
citement. His  daughter 
could  not  induce  him  to 
settle  down  to  his  cus- 
tomary occupations 
amusements  that 
He  passed  the  evening 
fumbling  amongst  his 
boxes  and  desks,  untying 
his  papers  with  trembling 
hands,  and  sorting  and 
arranging  them  against 
Jos's  arrival.  He  had 
them  in  the  greatest  or- 
der—his tapes  and  his  files,  his  receipts,  and  his  letters 
with  lawyers  and  correspondents;  the  documents  rela- 
tive to  the  Wine  Project  (which  failed  from  a  most  un- 
accountable accident,  after  commencing  with  the  most 
splendid  prospects),  the  Coal  Project  (which  only  a 
want  of  capital  prevented  from  becoming  the  most  sue-, 
cessful  scheme  ever  put  before  the  public),  the  Patent 
Saw-mills  and  Sawdust  Consolidation  Project,  &c.  &c. 
— All  night,  until  a  very  late  hour,  he  passed  in  the  prep- 
aration of  these  documents,  trembling  about  from  one 

202 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO 


203 


room  to  another,  with  a  quivering  candle  and  shaky 
hands.  —  Here's  the  wine  papers,  here's  the  sawdust, 
here's  the  coals;   here's  mv  letters  to  Calcutta  and  Ma- 


dras, and  replies  from  Major  Dobbin,  C.  B.,  and  Mr. 
Joseph  Sedley  to  the  same.  "  He  shall  find  no  irregu- 
larity about  7ne^  Emmy,"  the  old  gentleman  said. 

Emmy  smiled.  "  I  don't  think  Jos  will  care  about 
seeing  those  papers,  Papa,"  she  said. 

"  You  don't  know  anything  about  business,  my  dear," 
answered  the  sire,  shaking  his  head  with  an  important 


204  VANITY  FAIR 

air.  And  it  must  be  confessed,  that  on  this  point  Eniniy 
was  very  ignorant,  and  that  is  a  pity,  some  people  are 
so  knowing.  All  these  twopenny  documents  arranged 
on  a  side  table,  old  Sedley  covered  them  carefully  over 
with  a  clean  bandanna  handkerchief  (one  out  of  Major 
Dobbin's  lot),  and  enjoined  the  maid  and  landlady  of 
the  house,  in  the  most  solemn  way,  not  to  disturb  those 
papers,  which  were  arranged  for  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Jo- 
seph Sedley  the  next  morning,  "  Mr.  Joseph  Sedley  of 
the  Honourable  East  India  Company's  Bengal  Civil 
Service." 

Amelia  found  him  up  very  early  the  next  morning, 
more  eager,  more  hectic,  and  more  shaky  than  ever.  "  I 
didn't  sleep  much,  Emmy  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
thinking  of  my  poor  Bessy.  I  wish  she  was  alive,  to 
ride  in  Jos's  carriage  once  again.  She  kept  her  own, 
and  became  it  very  well."  And  his  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
which  trickled  down  his  furrowed  old  face.  Amelia 
wiped  them  away,  and  smilingly  kissed  him,  and  tied 
the  old  man's  neckcloth  in  a  smart  bow,  and  put  his 
brooch  into  his  best  shirt  frill,  in  which,  in  his  Sundav 
suit  of  mourning,  he  sat  from  six  o'clock  in  the  morning 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  his  son. 

There  are  some  splendid  tailors'  shops  in  the  High 
Street  of  Southampton,  in  the  fine  plate-glass  windows 
of  which  hang  gorgeous  waistcoats  of  all  sorts,  of  silk 
and  velvet,  and  gold  and  crimson,  and  pictures  of  the 
last  new  fashions  in  which  those  wonderful  gentlemen 
with  quizzing  glasses,  and  holding  on  to  little  boys  with 
the  exceeding  large  eyes  and  curly  hair,  ogle  ladies  in 
riding  habits  prancing  by  the  Statue  of  Achilles  at  Aps- 
ley  House.  Jos,  although  provided  with  some  of  the 
most  splendid  vests  that  Calcutta  could  furnish,  thought 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO        205 

he  could  not  go  to  town  until  he  was  supplied  with  one 
or  two  of  these  garments,  and  selected  a  crimson  satin, 
embroidered  with  gold  butterflies,  and  a  black  and  red 
velvet  tartan  with  white  stripes  and  a  rolling  collar, 
with  which,  and  a  rich  blue  satin  stock  and  a  gold  pin, 
consisting  of  a  five-barred  gate  with  a  horsman  in  pink 
enamel  jumping  over  it,  he  thought  he  might  make  his 
entry  into  London  with  some  dignity.  For  Jos's  for- 
mer shyness  and  blundering  blushing  timidity  had  given 
way  to  a  more  candid  and  courageous  self-assertion  of 
his  worth.  "  I  don't  care  about  owning  it,"  Waterloo 
Sedley  would  say  to  his  friends,  "  I  am  a  dressy  man:  " 
and  though  rather  uneasy  if  the  ladies  looked  at  him  at 
the  Government  House  balls,  and  though  he  blushed  and 
turned  away  alarmed  under  their  glances,  it  was  chiefly 
from  a  dread  lest  they  should  make  love  to  him,  that  he 
avoided  them,  being  averse  to  marriage  altogether.  But 
there  was  no  such  swell  in  Calcutta  as  Waterloo  Sedley, 
I  have  heard  say :  and  lie  had  the  handsomest  turn-out, 
gave  the  best  bachelor  dinners,  and  had  the  finest  plate  in 
the  whole  place. 

To  make  these  waistcoats  for  a  man  of  his  size  and 
dignity  took  at  least  a  day,  part  of  which  he  employed 
in  hiring  a  servant  to  wait  upon  him  and  his  native;  and 
in  instructing  the  agent  who  cleared  his  baggage,  his 
boxes,  his  books,  which  he  never  read ;  his  chests  of  man- 
goes, chutney,  and  currie-powders ;  his  shawls  for  pres- 
ents to  people  whom  he  didn't  know  as  yet ;  and  the  rest 
of  his  Pcrsicos  ajjparatus. 

At  length,  he  drove  leisurely  to  London  on  the  third 
dav,  and  in  the  new  waistcoat :  the  native,  with  chatter- 
iiig  teetli,  shuddering  in  a  shawl  on  tlie  box  by  the  side  of 
the  new  Euro])ean  servant :   Jos  puffing  his  pipe  at  in- 


206  VANITY  FAIR 

tervals  within,  and  looking  so  majestic,  that  the  Httle 
boys  cried  Hooray,  and  many  people  thought  he  must 
be  a  Governor-General.  He,  I  promise,  did  not  decline 
the  obsequious  invitation  of  the  landlords  to  alight  and 
refresh  himself  in  the  neat  country  towns.  Having  par- 
taken of  a  copious  breakfast,  with  fish,  and  rice,  and 
hard  eggs,  at  Southampton,  he  had  so  far  rallied  at  Win- 
chester as  to  think  a  glass  of  sherry  necessary.  At  Al- 
ton he  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  at  his  servant's  re- 
quest, and  imbibed  some  of  the  ale  for  which  the  place 
is  famous.  At  Farnliam  he  stopped  to  view  the  Bishop's 
Castle,  and  to  partake  of  a  light  dinner  of  stewed  eels, 
veal  cutlets,  and  French  beans,  with  a  bottle  of  claret. 
He  was  cold  over  Bagshot  Heath,  where  the  native 
chattered  more  and  more,  and  Jos  Sahib  took  some  bran- 
dy-and-water ;  in  fact,  when  he  drove  into  town,  he  was 
as  full  of  wine,  beer,  meat,  pickles,  cherry-brandy,  and 
tobacco,  as  the  steward's  cabin  of  a  steam-packet.  It 
was  evening  when  his  carriage  thundered  up  to  the  little 
door  in  Brompton,  w^hither  the  aflFectionate  fellow  drove 
first,  and  before  hieing  to  the  apartments  secured  for 
him  by  Mr.  Dobbin  at  the  Slaughters'. 

All  the  faces  in  the  street  were  in  the  windows;  the 
little  maid-servant  flew  to  the  wicket-gate,  the  JNIes- 
dames  Clapp  looked  out  from  the  casement  of  the  or- 
namented kitchen ;  Emmy,  in  a  great  flutter,  was  in  the 
passage  among  the  hats  and  coats,  and  old  Sedley  in  the 
parlour  inside,  shaking  all  over.  Jos  descended  from 
the  post-chaise  and  down  the  creaking  swaying  steps  in 
awful  state,  supported  by  the  new  valet  from  South- 
ampton and  the  shuddering  native,  whose  brown  face 
w^as  now  livid  with  cold,  and  of  the  colour  of  a  turkey's 
gizzard.    He  created  an  immense  sensation  in  the  pas- 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        207 

sage  presently,  where  ]Mrs.  and  Miss  Clapp,  coming 
perhaps  to  hsten  at  the  parlour  door,  found  Loll  Jewab 
shaking  upon  the  hall-bench  under  the  coats,  moaning 
in  a  strange  piteous  way,  and  showing  his  yellow  eyeballs 
and  white  teeth. 

For,  you  see,  we  have  adroitly  shut  the  door  upon  the 
meeting  between  Jos  and  the  old  father,  and  the  poor 
little  gentle  sister  inside.  The  old  man  was  very  much 
affected:  so,  of  course,  was  his  daughter:  nor  was  Jos 
without  feeling.  In  that  long  absence  of  ten  years,  the 
most  selfish  will  think  about  home  and  earlv  ties.  Dis- 
tance  sanctifies  both.  Long  brooding  over  those  lost 
pleasures  exaggerates  their  charm  and  sweetness.  Jos 
was  unaffectedly  glad  to  see  and  shake  the  hand  of  his 
father,  between  whom  and  himself  there  had  been  a 
coolness — glad  to  see  his  little  sister,  whom  he  remem- 
bered so  pretty  and  smiling,  and  pained  at  the  alteration 
whicli  time,  grief,  and  misfortune  had  made  in  the  shat- 
tered old  man.  Emmy  had  come  out  to  the  door  in  her 
black  clothes  and  whispered  to  him  of  her  mother's 
death,  and  not  to  speak  of  it  to  their  father.  There 
was  no  need  of  this  caution,  for  the  elder  Sedley  him- 
self began  immediately  to  speak  of  the  event,  and 
prattled  about  it,  and  wept  over  it  plenteously.  It 
shocked  the  Indian  not  a  little,  and  made  him  think 
of  himself  less  than  the  poor  fellow  was  accustomed 
to  do. 

The  result  of  the  interview  must  liave  been  very  satis- 
factory, for  when  Jos  had  reascended  his  post-chaise, 
and  liad  driven  away  to  his  hotel,  Emmy  embraced  her 
father  tenderly,  appealing  to  him  with  an  air  of  trium]ili, 
and  asking  tlie  old  man  whether  she  did  not  alwavs  say 
llial  her  brother  had  a  good  heart? 


208  VANITY  FAIR 

Indeed,  Joseph  Sedley,  affected  by  the  humble  posi- 
tion in  which  he  found  his  relations,  and  in  the  expan- 
siveness  and  overflowing  of  heart  occasioned  by  the  first 
meeting,  declared  that  they  should  never  suffer  want  or 
discomfort  any  more,  that  he  was  at  home  for  some  time 
at  any  rate,  during  which  his  house  and  everything  he 
had  should  be  theirs:  and  that  Amelia  would  look  very 
pretty  at  the  head  of  his  table — until  she  would  accept 
one  of  her  own. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  had,  as  usual,  recourse 
to  the  water-works.  She  knew  what  he  meant.  She  and 
her  young  confidante.  Miss  Mary,  had  talked  over  the 
matter  most  fully,  the  very  night  of  the  Major's  visit: 
beyond  which  time  the  impetuous  Polly  could  not  re- 
frain from  talking  of  the  discovery  which  she  had  made, 
and  describing  the  start  and  tremor  of  joy  by  which 
Major  Dobbin  betrayed  himself  when  Mr.  Binny  passed 
with  his  bride,  and  the  Major  learned  that  he  had  no 
longer  a  rival  to  fear.  "  Didn't  you  see  how  he  shook  all 
over  when  you  asked  if  he  was  married,  and  he  said, 
'  Who  told  you  those  lies? '  O  Ma'am,"  Polly  said,  "  he 
never  kept  his  eyes  off  you;  and  I'm  sure  he's  grown 
grey  a-thinking  of  you."  But  Amelia,  looking  up  at 
her  bed,  over  which  hung  the  portraits  of  her  hus- 
band and  son,  told  her  young  protegee,  never,  never, 
to  speak  on  that  subject  again;  that  Major  Dobbin 
had  been  her  husband's  dearest  friend,  and  her  own 
and  George's  most  kind  and  affectionate  guardian ;  that 
she  loved  him  as  a  brother — but  that  a  woman  who  had 
been  married  to  such  an  angel  as  that,  and  she  pointed 
to  the  wall,  could  never  think  of  any  other  union.  Poor 
Polly  sighed:  she  thought  what  she  should  do  if  young 
Mr.  Tomkins,  at  the  surgery,  who  always  looked  at  her 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        209 

so  at  church,  and  who,  by  those  mere  aggressive  glances, 
had  put  her  timorous  httle  heart  into  such  a  flutter  that 
she  was  ready  to  surrender  at  once, — what  she  should  do 
if  he  were  to  die  {  She  knew  he  was  consumptive,  his 
cheeks  were  so  red,  and  he  was  so  uncommon  thin  in  the 
waist. 

Xot  that  Emmy,  being  made  aware  of  the  honest  Ma- 
jor's passion,  rebuffed  him  in  any  way,  or  felt  displeased 
with  him.  Such  an  attachment  from  so  true  and  loval 
a  gentleman  could  make  no  woman  angry.  Desde- 
mona  was  not  angry  with  Cassio,  though  there  is  very 
little  doubt  she  saw  the  Lieutenant's  partiality  for 
lier  (and  I  for  my  part  believe  that  many  more 
things  took  place  in  that  sad  affair  than  the  worthy 
^Moorish  officer  ever  knew  of)  ;  why,  Miranda  was 
even  very  kind  to  Caliban,  and  we  may  be  pretty 
sure  for  the  same  reason.  Not  that  she  would  encourage 
him  in  the  least, — the  poor  uncouth  monster — of  course 
not.  No  more  would  Emmy  by  any  means  encourage 
her  admirer,  the  JNIajor.  She  would  give  him  that 
friendly  regard,  which  so  much  excellence  and  fidelity 
merited;  she  would  treat  him  with  perfect  cordiality 
and  frankness  until  he  made  his  proposals;  and  then  it 
would  be  time  enough  for  her  to  speak,  and  to  put  an 
end  to  hopes  which  never  coidd  be  realised. 

She  slept,  therefore,  very  soundly  that  evening,  after 
the  conversation  with  Miss  Pollv,  and  was  more  than 
ordinarily  happy,  in  spite  of  Jos's  delaying.  "  I  am 
glad  he  is  not  going  to  marry  that  Miss  O'Dowd,"  she 
tliought.  "  Colonel  O'Dowd  never  could  have  a  sister 
fit  for  such  an  accom])hshed  man  as  INIajor  William." 
W'ho  was  there  amongst  her  little  circle,  who  would 
make  liim  a  good  wife?    Not  Miss  Binny,  she  was  too 

VOL.  III. 


210  VANITY  FAIR 

old  and  ill-tempered;  Miss  Osborne? — too  old  too. 
Little  Polly  was  too  young.  Mrs.  Osborne  could  not 
find  anybody  to  suit  the  Major  before  she  went  to  sleep. 

However,  when  the  postman  made  his  appearance,  the 
little  part}^  were  put  out  of  suspense  by  the  receipt  of  a 
letter  from  Jos  to  his  sister,  who  announced,  that  he  felt 
a  little  fatigued  after  his  voyage,  and  should  not  be  able 
to  move  on  that  day,  but  that  he  would  leave  Southamp- 
ton early  the  next  morning,  and  be  with  his  father  and 
mother  at  evening.  Amelia,  as  she  read  out  the  letter 
to  her  father,  paused  over  the  latter  word ;  her  brother, 
it  was  clear,  did  not  know  what  had  happened  in  the 
family.  Nor  could  he:  for  the  fact  is  that  though  the 
Major  rightly  suspected  that  his  travelling  companion 
never  would  be  got  into  motion  in  so  short  a  space  as 
twenty-four  hours,  and  would  find  some  excuse  for  de- 
laying, yet  Dobbin  had  not  written  to  Jos  to  inform  him 
of  the  calamity  which  had  befallen  the  Sedley  family: 
being  occupied  in  talking  with  Amelia  until  long  after 
post-hour. 

The  same  morning  brought  Major  Dobbin  a  letter  to 
the  Slaughters'  Coffee  House  from  his  friend  at  South- 
ampton; begging  dear  Dob  to  excuse  Jos  for  being  in 
a  rage  when  awakened  the  day  before  (he  had  a  con- 
founded head-ache,  and  was  just  in  his  first  sleep),  and 
entreating  Dob  to  engage  comfortable  rooms  at  the 
Slaughters'  for  Mr.  Sedley  and  his  servants.  The  Ma- 
jor had  become  necessary  to  Jos  during  the  voyage.  He 
was  attached  to  him,  and  hung  upon  him.  The  other 
passengers  were  away  to  London.  Young  Ricketts  and 
little  Chaffers  went  away  on  the  coach  that  day — Rick- 
etts on  the  box,  and  taking  the  reins  from  Botley;  the 
Doctor  was  off  to  his  family  at  Portsea ;  Bragg  gone  to 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        211 

town  to  his  co-partners:  and  the  first  mate  busy  in  the 
unloading  of  the  Ramchunder.  Mr.  Jos  was  very  lonely 
at  Southampton,  and  got  the  landlord  of  the  George  to 
take  a  glass  of  wine  with  him  that  day ;  at  the  very  hour 
at  which  jNIajor  Dobbin  was  seated  at  the  table  of  his 
father.  Sir  William,  where  his  sister  found  out  (for  it 
was  impossible  for  the  JNIajor  to  tell  fibs)  that  he  had 
been  to  see  ]Mrs.  George  Osborne. 

Jos  was  so  comfortably  situated  in  St.  JNIartin's  Lane, 
he  could  enjoy  his  hookah  there  with  such  perfect  ease, 
and  could  sw^agger  down  to  the  theatres,  when  minded, 
so  agreeably,  that,  perhaps,  he  would  have  remained  al- 
together at  the  Slaughters'  had  not  his  friend,  the  Major, 
been  at  his  elbow.  That  gentleman  would  not  let  the 
Bengalee  rest  until  he  had  executed  his  promise  of  hav- 
ing a  home  for  Amelia  and  his  father.  Jos  was  a  soft 
fellow  in  anybody's  hands;  Dobbin  most  active  in  any- 
body's concerns  but  his  own ;  the  civilian  was,  therefore, 
an  easy  victim  to  the  guileless  arts  of  this  good-natured 
diplomatist,  and  was  ready  to  do,  to  purchase,  hire,  or 
relinquish  whatever  his  friend  thought  fit.  Loll  Jewab, 
of  whom  the  boys  about  St.  ^lartin's  Lane  used  to  make 
cruel  fun  whenever  he  showed  his  dusky  countenance  in 
the  street,  was  sent  })ack  to  Calcutta  in  the  Lady  Kickle- 
bury  East  Indiaman,  in  which  Sir  William  Dobbin  had 
a  share;  having  previously  taught  Jos's  European  the 
art  of  preparing  curries,  pilaus,  and  pipes.  It  was  a 
matter  of  great  delight  and  occupation  to  Jos  to  super- 
intend the  })uil(h*ng  of  a  smart  chariot,  which  he  and  the 
Major  ordered  in  the  neighbouring  Long  Acre:  and  a 
pair  of  handsome  horses  were  jobbed,  with  which  Jos 
drove  about  in  state  in  the  Park,  or  to  call  upon  his 


212  VANITY  FAIR 

Indian  friends.  Amelia  was  not  seldom  by  his  side  on 
these  excursions,  when  also  Major  Dobbin  would  be 
seen  in  the  back  seat  of  the  carriage.  At  other  times  old 
Sedley  and  his  daughter  took  advantage  of  it :  and  Miss 
Clapp,  who  frequently  accompanied  her  friend,  had 
great  pleasure  in  being  recognised  as  she  sate  in  the  car- 
riage, dressed  in  the  famous  yellow  shawl,  by  the  young 
gentleman  at  the  surgery,  whose  face  might  commonly 
be  seen  over  the  window-blinds  as  she  passed. 

Shortly  after  Jos's  first  appearance  at  Brompton,  a 
dismal  scene,  indeed,  took  place  at  that  humble  cottage, 
at  which  the  Sedley s  had  passed  the  last  ten  years  of 
their  life.  Jos's  carriage  (the  temporary  one,  not  the 
chariot  under  construction)  arrived  one  day  and  carried 
oiF  old  Sedley  and  his  daughter — to  return  no  more. 
The  tears  that  were  shed  by  the  landlady  and  the  land- 
lady's daughter  at  that  event  were  as  genuine  tears  of 
sorrow  as  any  that  have  been  outpoured  in  the  course  of 
this  history.  In  their  long  acquaintanceship  and  inti- 
macy they  could  not  recall  a  harsh  word  that  had  been 
uttered  by  Amelia.  She  had  been  all  sweetness  and  kind- 
ness, always  thankful,  always  gentle,  even  when  ]Mrs. 
Clapp  lost  her  own  temper,  and  pressed  for  the  rent. 
When  the  kind  creature  was  going  away  for  good  and 
all,  the  landlady  reproached  herself  bitterly  for  ever 
having  used  a  rough  expression  to  her — how  she  wept, 
as  they  stuck  up  with  wafers  on  the  window,  a  paper 
notifying  that  the  little  rooms  so  long  occupied  were  to 
let!  They  never  would  have  such  lodgers  again,  that 
was  quite  clear.  After-life  proved  the  truth  of  this  mel- 
ancholy prophecy:  and  Mrs.  Clapp  revenged  herself 
for  the  deterioration  of  mankind  by  levying  the  most 
savage  contributions  upon  the  tea-caddies  and  legs  of 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        213 

mutton  of  her  locataircs.  Most  of  them  scolded  and 
grmnbled;  some  of  them  did  not  pay:  none  of  them 
stayed.  The  landlady  might  well  regret  those  old,  old 
friends,  who  had  left  her. 

As  for  Miss  ^lary,  her  sorrow  at  Amelia's  departure 
was  such  as  I  shall  not  attempt  to  depict.  From  child- 
hood upwards  she  had  been  with  her  daily,  and  had  at- 
tached herself  so  passionately  to  that  dear  good  lady, 
that  when  the  grand  barouche  came  to  carry  her  off  into 
splendour,  she  fainted  in  the  arms  of  her  friend,  who 
was  indeed  scarcely  less  affected  than  the  good-natured 
girl.  Amelia  loved  her  like  a  daughter.  During  eleven 
years  the  girl  had  been  her  constant  friend  and  associate. 
The  separation  was  a  very  painful  one  indeed  to  her. 
But  it  was  of  course  arranged  that  Mary  was  to  come 
and  stay  often  at  the  grand  new  house  whither  Mrs.  Os- 
borne was  going;  and  where  Mary  was  sure  she  would 
never  be  so  happy  as  she  had  been  in  their  humble  cot, 
as  Miss  Clapp  called  it,  in  the  language  of  the  novels 
which  she  loved. 

Let  us  hope  she  was  wrong  in  her  judgment.  Poor 
Emmy's  days  of  happiness  had  been  very  few  in  that 
humble  cot.  A  gloomy  Fate  had  oppressed  her  there. 
She  never  liked  to  come  back  to  the  house  after  she  had 
left  it,  or  to  face  the  landlady  who  had  tyrannised  over 
her  when  ill-humoured  and  unpaid,  or  when  pleased  had 
treated  her  with  a  coarse  familiarity  scarcely  less  odious. 
Her  servility  and  fulsome  compliments  when  Emmy 
was  in  prosperity  were  not  more  to  that  lady's  liking. 
She  cast  about  notes  of  admiration  all  over  the  new 
liouse,  extolhrig  every  article  of  furniture  or  ornament; 
slie  fingered  Mrs.  Osborne's  dresses,  and  calcuhited  their 
price.     Nothing  could  be  too  good  for  that  sweet  lady, 


214  VANITY  FAIR 

she  vowed  and  protested.  But  in  the  vulgar  sycophant 
who  now  paid  court  to  her,  Emmy  always  remembered 
the  coarse  tyrant  who  had  made  her  miserable  many  a 
time,  to  whom  she  had  been  forced  to  put  up  petitions 
for  time,  when  the  rent  was  overdue ;  who  cried  out  at 
her  extravagance  if  she  bought  delicacies  for  her  ailing 
mother  or  father ;  who  had  seen  her  humble  and  trampled 
upon  her. 

Nobody  ever  heard  of  these  griefs,  which  had  been 
part  of  our  poor  little  woman's  lot  in  life.  She  kept 
them  secret  from  her  father,  whose  improvidence  was 
the  cause  of  much  of  her  misery.  She  had  to  bear  all 
the  blame  of  his  misdoings,  and  indeed  was  so  utterly 
gentle  and  humble  as  to  be  made  by  nature  for  a  victim. 

I  hope  she  is  not  to  suffer  much  more  of  that  hard 
usage.  And,  as  in  all  griefs  there  is  said  to  be  some  con- 
solation, I  may  mention  that  poor  Mary,  when  left  at 
her  friend's  departure  in  a  hysterical  condition,  was 
placed  under  the  medical  treatment  of  the  young  fellow 
from  the  surgery,  under  whose  care  she  rallied  after  a 
short  period.  Emmy,  when  she  went  away  from  Bromp- 
ton,  endowed  IMary  with  every  article  of  furniture  that 
the  house  contained :  only  taking  away  her  pictures  (the 
two  pictures  over  the  bed)  and  her  piano — that  little  old 
piano  which  had  now  passed  into  a  plaintive  jingling 
old  age,  but  which  she  loved  for  reasons  of  her  own. 
She  was  a  child  when  first  she  played  on  it:  and  her 
parents  gave  it  her.  It  had  been  given  to  her  again 
since,  as  the  reader  may  remember,  when  her  father's 
house  was  gone  to  ruin,  and  the  instrument  was  recovered 
out  of  the  wreck. 

Major  Dobbin  was  exceedingly  pleased  when,  as  he 
was    superintending   the    arrangements    of   Jos's    new 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        215 

house,  which  the  ]Major  insisted  should  be  very  hand- 
some and  comfortable ;  the  cart  arrived  from  Brompton, 
bringing  the  trunks  and  band-boxes  of  the  emigrants 
from  that  village,  and  with  them  the  old  piano.  Amelia 
would  have  it  up  in  her  sitting-room,  a  neat  little  apart- 
ment on  the  second  floor,  adjoining  her  father's  cham- 
ber: and  where  the  old  gentleman  sate  commonly  of 
evenings. 

AA^hen  the  men  appeared  then  bearing  this  old  music- 
box,  and  Amelia  gave  orders  that  it  should  be  placed  in 
the  chamber  aforesaid,  Dobbin  was  quite  elated.  "  I'm 
glad  you've  kept  it,"  he  said  in  a  very  sentimental  man- 
ner.   "  I  was  afraid  j^ou  didn't  care  about  it." 

"  I  value  it  more  than  anything  I  have  in  the  world," 
said  Amelia. 

''Do  you,  Amelia?"  cried  the  Major.  The  fact  was,  as 
he  had  bought  it  himself,  though  he  never  said  anything 
about  it,  it  never  entered  into  his  head  to  suppose  that 
Emmy  should  think  anybody  else  was  the  purchaser, 
and  as  a  matter  of  course  he  fancied  that  she  knew  the 
gift  came  from  him.  "  Do  you,  Amelia  ?"  he  said ;  and 
the  question,  the  great  question  of  all,  was  trembling  on 
his  lips,  when  Emmy  replied — 

"  Can  I  do  otherwise? — did  not  he  give  it  me?  " 

"  I  did  not  know,"  said  poor  old  Dob,  and  his  counte- 
nance fell. 

Emmy  did  not  note  the  circumstance  at  the  time,  nor 
take  immediate  heed  of  the  very  dismal  expression  which 
honest  Dobbin's  countenance  assumed;  but  she  thought 
of  it  afterwards.  And  then  it  struck  her,  with  inex- 
pressi})le  pain  and  mortification  too,  that  it  was  William 
\\ho  was  the  giver  of  the  piano;  and  not  George,  as  she 
liad  fancied.     It  was  not  George's  gift;    the  only  one 


216  VANITY  FAIR 

which  she  had  received  from  her  lover,  as  she  thought — 
the  thing  she  had  cherished  beyond  all  others — her  dear- 
est relic  and  prize.  She  had  spoken  to  it  about  George ; 
played  his  favourite  airs  upon  it :  sate  for  long  evening 
hours,  touching,  to  the  best  of  her  simple  art,  melan- 
choly harmonies  on  the  keys,  and  weeping  over  them  in 
silence.  It  was  not  George's  relic.  It  was  valueless  now. 
The  next  time  that  old  Sedley  asked  her  to  play,  she  said 
it  was  shockingly  out  of  tune,  that  she  had  a  headache, 
that  she  couldn't  play. 

Then,  according  to  her  custom,  she  rebuked  herself 
for  her  pettishness  and  ingratitude,  and  determined  to 
make  a  reparation  to  honest  William  for  the  slight  she 
had  not  expressed  to  him,  but  had  felt  for  his  piano. 
A  few  days  afterwards,  as  they  were  seated  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, where  Jos  had  fallen  asleep  with  great  com- 
fort after  dinner,  Amelia  said  with  rather  a  faltering 
voice  to  Major  Dobbin, — 

"  I  have  to  beg  your  pardon  for  something." 

"  About  what?  "  said  he. 

"  About — about  that  little  square  piano.  I  never 
thanked  you  for  it  when  j^ou  gave  it  me;  many,  many 
years  ago,  before  I  was  married.  I  thought  somebody 
else  had  given  it.  Thank  you,  William."  She  held  out 
her  hand ;  but  the  poor  little  woman's  heart  was  bleed- 
ing; and  as  for  her  eyes,  of  course  they  were  at  their 
work. 

But  William  could  hold  no  more.  "  Amelia,  Amelia," 
he  said,  "  I  did  buy  it  for  you.  I  loved  you  then  as  I 
do  now.  I  must  tell  you.  I  think  I  loved  you  from 
the  first  minute  that  I  saw  you,  when  George  brought 
me  to  your  house,  to  show  me  the  Amelia  whom  he  was 
engaged  to.    You  were  but  a  girl,  in  white,  with  large 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        217 

ringlets;  you  came  down  singing — do  you  remember? 
— and  we  went  to  Vauxhall.  Since  then  I  have  thought 
of  but  woman  in  the  world,  and  that  was  you.  I 
think  there  is  no  hour  in  the  daj^  has  passed  for  twelve 
years  that  I  haven't  thought  of  you.  I  came  to  tell  you 
this  before  I  went  to  India,  but  you  did  not  care,  and  I 
hadn't  the  heart  to  speak.  You  did  not  care  whether 
I  stayed  or  went." 

"  I  was  very  ungrateful,"  Amelia  said. 

"Xo;  only  indifferent,"  Dobbin  continued,  despe- 
rately. "  I  have  nothing  to  make  a  woman  to  be  other- 
wise. I  know  M^hat  you  are  feeling  now.  You  are  hurt 
in  your  heart  at  the  discovery  about  the  piano ;  and  that 
it  came  from  me  and  not  from  George.  I  forgot,  or 
I  should  never  have  spoken  of  it  so.  It  is  for  me  to  ask 
your  pardon  for  being  a  fool  for  a  moment,  and  thinking 
that  years  of  constancy  and  devotion  might  have  pleaded 
with  you." 

"It  is  you  who  are  cruel  now,"  Amelia  said  with 
some  spirit.  "  George  is  my  husband,  here  and  in 
heaven.  How  could  I  love  any  other  but  him?  I  am 
his  now  as  when  you  first  saw  me,  dear  William.  It 
was  he  who  told  me  how  good  and  generous  you  were, 
and  who  taught  me  to  love  you  as  a  brother.  Have  you 
not  been  everything  to  me  and  my  boy?  Our  dearest, 
truest,  kindest  friend  and  protector?  Had  you  come 
a  few  months  sooner  perliaps  you  might  have  spared  me 
that— that  dreadful  parting.  O,  it  nearly  killed  me, 
A\miiam— but  you  didn't  come,  though  I  wished  and 
prayed  for  j'^ou  to  come,  and  they  took  Iiim  too  away 
from  me.  Isn't  he  a  noble  ])oy,  William?  Be  his  friend 
still  and  mine  "—and  here  her  voice  broke,  and  she  hid 
her  face  on  his  shoulder. 


218  VANITY  FAIR 

The  Major  folded  his  arms  round  her,  holding  her 
to  him  as  if  she  was  a  child,  and  kissed  her  head.  "  I 
will  not  change,  dear  Amelia,"  he  said.  "  I  ask  for  no 
more  than  your  love.  I  think  I  would  not  have  it  other- 
wise.   Only  let  me  stay  near  you,  and  see  you  often." 

"  Yes,  often,"  Amelia  said.  And  so  William  was  at 
liberty  to  look  and  long:  as  the  poor  boy  at  school  who 
has  no  money  may  sigh  after  the  contents  of  the  tart- 
woman's  tray. 


CHAPTER   LX 


EETURNS  TO  THE  GENTEEL  WORLD 


OOD 


fortune  now  be- 
gins to  smile 
upon  Amelia. 
We  are  glad  to 
get  her  out  of 
that  low  sphere 
in  which  she  has 
been  creeping 
hitherto,  and  in- 
troduce her  into 
a  polite  circle ; 
not  so  grand 
and  refined  as 
that  in  which 
our  other  fe- 
male friend, 
Mrs.  Becky,  has 
appeared,  but  still  having  no  small  pretensions  to 
gentility  and  fashion.  Jos's  friends  were  all  from 
the  three  presidencies,  and  liis  new  house  was  in 
the  comfortable  Anglo-Indian  district  of  which  Moira 
Place  is  the  centre.  JNIinto  Square,  Great  Clive  Street, 
Warren  Street,  Hastings  Street,  Ochterlony  Place, 
Plassy  Square,  Assaye  Terrace,  ("Gardens"  was  a 
felicitous  word  not  ap])lied  to  stucco  houses  with  as- 
phalte  terraces  in  front,  so  early  as  1827)  —who  does  not 

219 


220  VANITY   FAIR 

know  these  respectable  abodes  of  the  retired  Indian  aris- 
tocracy, and  the  quarter  which  Mr.  Wenham  calls  the 
Black  Hole,  in  a  word?  Jos's  position  in  life  was  not 
grand  enough  to  entitle  him  to  a  house  in  Moira  Place, 
where  none  can  live  but  retired  Members  of  Council, 
and  partners  of  Indian  firms  (who  break  after  having 
settled  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  on  their  wives,  and 
retire  in  comparative  penury  to  a  country  place  and 
four  thousand  a  year)  :  he  engaged  a  comfortable  house 
of  a  second  or  third-rate  order  in  Gillespie  Street,  pur- 
chasing the  carpets,  costly  mirrors,  and  handsome  and 
appropriate  planned  furnitui*e  by  Seddons,  from  the 
assignees  of  JNIr.  Scape,  lately  admitted  partner  into  the 
great  Calcutta  House  of  Fogle,  Fake,  and  Cracksman, 
in  which  poor  Scape  had  embarked  seventy  thousand 
pounds,  the  earnings  of  a  long  and  honourable  life,  tak- 
ing Fake's  place,  who  retired  to  a  princely  Park  in  Sus- 
sex, (the  Fogies  have  been  long  out  of  the  firm,  and 
Sir  Horace  Fogle  is  about  to  be  raised  to  the  peerage  as 
Baron  Bandanna) — admitted,  I  say,  partner  into  the 
great  agency  house  of  Fogle  and  Fake  two  years  before 
it  failed  for  a  million,  and  plunged  half  the  Indian 
public  into  misery  and  ruin. 

Scape,  ruined,  honest,  and  broken-hearted  at  sixty- 
five  years  of  age,  went  out  to  Calcutta  to  wind  up  the 
affairs  of  the  house.  Walter  Scape  was  withdrawn  from 
Eton,  and  put  into  a  merchant's  house.  Florence  Scape, 
Fanny  Scape,  and  their  mother  faded  away  to  Bou- 
logne, and  will  be  heard  of  no  more.  To  be  brief,  Jos 
stepped  in  and  bought  their  carpets  and  sideboards,  and 
admired  himself  in  the  mirrors  which  had  reflected  their 
kind  handsome  faces.  The  Scape  tradesmen,  all  hon- 
ourably paid,  left  their  cards,  and  were  eager  to  supply 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        221 

the  new  household.  The  large  men  in  white  waistcoats, 
who  waited  at  Scape's  dinners,  greengrocers,  bank- 
porters,  and  milkmen  in  their  private  capacity,  left  their 
addresses,  and  ingratiated  themselves  with  the  butler. 
]Mr.  Chummy,  the  chimney-purifier,  who  had  swep'  the 
last  three  families,  tried  to  coax  the  butler  and  the  boy 
under  him,  whose  duty  it  was  to  go  out  covered  with 
buttons  and  with  stripes  down  his  trowsers,  for  the  pro- 
tection of  31rs.  Amelia  whenever  she  chose  to  walk 
abroad. 

It  was  a  modest  establisment.  The  butler  was  Jos's 
valet  also,  and  never  was  more  drunk  than  a  butler  in  a 
small  family  should  be  who  has  a  proper  regard  for  his 
master's  wine.  Emmy  was  supplied  with  a  maid,  grown 
on  Sir  William  Dobbin's  suburban  estate;  a  good  girl, 
whose  kindness  and  humility  disarmed  INIrs.  Osborne, 
who  was  at  first  terrified  at  the  idea  of  having  a  servant 
to  wait  upon  herself,  who  did  not  in  the  least  know  how 
to  use  one,  and  who  always  spoke  to  domestics  with  the 
most  reverential  politeness.  But  this  maid  was  very 
useful  in  the  family,  in  dextrously  tending  old  Mr.  Sed- 
ley,  who  kept  almost  entirely  to  his  own  quarter  of  the 
house,  and  never  mixed  in  any  of  the  gay  doings  which 
took  place  there. 

Numl>ers  of  people  came  to  see  Mrs.  Osborne.  Lady 
Dobbin  and  daughters  were  delighted  at  her  change  of 
fortune,  and  waited  upon  her.  Miss  Osborne  from  Rus- 
sell Square  came  in  lier  grand  chariot  with  the  flaming 
hammercloth  emblazoned  witli  the  Leeds  arms.  Jos  was 
reported  to  be  immensely  rich.  Old  Osborne  had  no  ob- 
jection that  Georgy  should  inherit  his  uncle's  property 
as  well  as  his  own.  "  Damn  it,  we  will  make  a  man  of 
the  feller,"  he  said;    "and  I'll  see  him  in  Parliament 


222  VANITY  FAIR 

before  I  die.  You  may  go  and  see  his  mother,  Miss  O., 
though  I'll  never  set  eyes  on  her:  "  and  Miss  Osborne 
came.  Emmy,  j^oii  may  be  sure,  was  very  glad  to  see 
her,  and  so  be  brought  nearer  to  George.  That  young 
fellow  was  allowed  to  come  much  more  frequently  than 
before  to  visit  his  mother.  He  dined  once  or  twice  a 
week  in  Gillespie  Strcet,  and  bullied  the  servants  and  his 
relations  there,  just  as  he  did  in  Russell  Square. 

He  was  always  respectful  to  INIajor  Dobbin,  however, 
and  more  modest  in  his  demeanour  when  that  gentleman 
was  present.  He  was  a  clever  lad  and  afraid  of  the  INIa- 
jor.  George  could  not  help  admiring  his  friend's  sim- 
plicity, his  good-humour,  his  various  learning  quietly 
imparted,  his  general  love  of  truth  and  justice.  He  had 
met  no  such  man  as  yet  in  the  course  of  his  experience, 
and  he  had  an  instinctive  liking  for  a  gentleman.  He 
hung  fondly  by  his  godfather's  side ;  and  it  was  his  de- 
light to  walk  in  the  Parks  and  hear  Dobbin  talk. 
William  told  George  about  his  father,  about  India  and 
Waterloo,  about  everything  but  himself.  When  George 
was  more  than  usually  pert  and  conceited,  the  Major 
made  jokes  at  him,  which  Mrs.  Osborne  thought  very 
cruel.  One  day,  taking  him  to  the  play,  and  the  boy 
declining  to  go  into  the  pit  because  it  was  vulgar,  the 
Major  took  him  to  the  boxes,  left  him  there,  and  went 
down  himself  to  the  pit.  He  had  not  been  seated  there 
very  long,  before  he  felt  an  arm  thrust  under  his,  and 
a  dandy  little  hand  in  a  kid-glove  squeezing  his  arm. 
George  had  seen  the  absurdity  of  his  ways,  and  come 
down  from  the  upper  region.  A  tender  laugh  of  benev- 
olence lighted  up  old  Dobbin's  face  and  eyes  as  he  looked 
at  the  repentant  little  prodigal.  He  loved  the  boy,  as 
he  did   everything   that   belonged    to   Amelia.      How 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        223 

charmed  she  was  when  she  heard  of  this  instance  of 
George's  goodness!  Her  eyes  looked  more  kindly  on 
Dobbin  than  they  ever  had  done.  She  blushed,  he 
thought,  after  looking  at  him  so. 

Georgy  never  tired  of  his  praises  of  the  Major  to  his 
mother.  "  I  like  him,  ]Mamma,  because  he  knows  such 
lots  of  things ;  and  he  ain't  like  old  Veal,  who  is  always 
bragging  and  using  such  long  words,  don't  you  know? 
The  chaps  call  him  '  Longtail '  at  school.  I  gave  him 
the  name;  ain't  it  capital?  But  Dob  reads  Latin  like 
English,  and  French  and  that;  and  when  we  go  out 
together  he  tells  me  stories  about  my  Papa,  and  never 
about  himself;  though  I  heard  Colonel  Buckler,  at 
Grandpapa's,  say  that  he  was  one  of  the  bravest  officers 
in  the  army,  and  had  distinguished  himself  ever  so  much. 
Grandpapa  was  quite  surprised,  and  said,  '  That  feller! 
why  I  didn't  think  he  could  say  Bo  to  a  goose  '—but  I 
know  he  could,  couldn't  he.  Mamma?  " 

Emmy  laughed:  she  thought  it  was  very  likely  the 
]Major  could  do  thus  much. 

If  there  was  a  sincere  liking  between  George  and  the 
Major,  it  must  be  confessed  that  between  the  boy  and 
his  uncle  no  great  love  existed.  George  had  got  a  way 
of  blowing  out  his  cheeks,  and  putting  his  hands  in  his 
waistcoat  pockets,  and  saying,  "  God  bless  my  soul,  you 
don't  say  so,"  so  exactly  after  the  fashion  of  old  Jos, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  refrain  from  laughter.  The 
serv^ants  would  explode  at  dinner  if  the  lad,  asking  for 
something  which  wasn't  at  table,  put  on  that  counte- 
nance and  used  that  favourite  phrase.  Even  Dobbin 
would  shoot  out  a  sudden  peal  at  tlie  boy's  mimicry.  If 
Ck'orge  did  not  mimic  his  uncle  to  his  face,  it  was  only 
by  Df)bbin's  rebukes  and  Amelia's  terrified  entreaties 


224  VANITY  FAIR 

that  the  little  scapegrace  was  induced  to  desist.  And 
the  worthy  civilian  being  haunted  by  a  dim  conscious- 
ness that  the  lad  thought  him  an  ass,  and  was  inclined 
to  turn  him  into  ridicule,  used  to  be  extremely  timorous 
and,  of  course,  doubly  pompous  and  dignified  in  the 
presence  of  Master  Georgy.  When  it  was  announced 
that  the  young  gentleman  was  expected  in  Gillespie 
Street  to  dine  with  his  mother,  Mr.  Jos  commonly  found 
that  he  had  an  engagement  at  the  Club.  Perhaps  no- 
body was  much  grieved  at  his  absence.  On  those  days 
Mr.  Sedlev  would  commonly  be  induced  to  come  out 
from  his  place  of  refuge  in  the  upper  storeys ;  and  there 
would  be  a  small  family  party,  whereof  Major  Dobbin 
pretty  generally  formed  one.  He  was  the  ami  de  la 
maison;  old  Sedley's  friend,  Emmy's  friend,  Georgy's 
friend,  Jos's  counsel  and  adviser.  "  He  might  almost 
as  well  be  at  Madras  for  anything  we  see  of  him,"  Miss 
Ann  Dobbin  remarked,  at  Camberwell.  All!  Miss 
Ann,  did  it  not  strike  you  that  it  was  not  you  whom  the 
Major  wanted  to  many? 

Joseph  Sedley  then  led  a  life  of  dignified  otiositj'^  such 
as  became  a  person  of  his  eminence.  His  very  first  point, 
of  course,  was  to  become  a  member  of  the  Oriental  Club: 
where  he  spent  his  mornings  in  the  company  of  his 
brother  Indians,  where  he  dined,  or  whence  he  brought 
home  men  to  dine. 

Amelia  had  to  receive  and  entertain  these  gentlemen 
and  their  ladies.  From  these  she  heard  how  soon 
Smith  would  be  in  Council;  how  many  lacs  Jones  had 
brought  home  with  him,  how  Thomson's  House  in  Lon- 
don had  refused  the  bills  drawn  by  Thomson,  Kibobjee, 
and  Co.,  the  Bombay  House,  and  how  it  was  thought 
the  Calcutta  House  must  go  too:   how  very  imprudent, 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        225 

to  say  the  least  of  it,  jSIrs.  Brown's  conduct  (wife  of 
Brown  of  the  Alimednuggur  Irregulars )  had  been  with 
young  Swankey  of  the  Body  Guard,  sitting  up  with  him 
on  deck  until  all  hours,  and  losing  themselves  as  they 
were  riding  out  at  the  Cape;  how  JNIrs.  Hardyman  had 
had  out  her  thirteen  sisters,  daughters  of  a  country  cu- 
rate, the  Rev.  Felix  Rabbits,  and  married  eleven  of  them, 
seven  high  up  in  the  service :  how  Hornby  was  wild  be- 
cause his  wife  would  stay  in  Europe,  and  Trotter  was  ap- 
pointed Collector  at  Ummerapoora.  This  and  similar 
talk  took  place,  at  the  grand  dinners  all  round.  They 
had  the  same  conversation;  the  same  silver  dishes;  the 
same  saddles  of  mutton,  boiled  turkeys,  and  entrees. 
Politics  set  in  a  short  time  after  dessert,  when  the  ladies 
retired  up  stairs  and  talked  about  their  complaints  and 
their  children. 

jMutato  nomine,  it  is  all  the  same.  Don't  the  barris- 
ters' wives  talk  about  Circuit? — Don't  the  soldiers'  la- 
dies gossip  about  the  Regiment? — don't  the  clergymen's 
ladies  discourse  about  Sunday  Schools,  and  who  takes 
whose  duty? — don't  the  very  greatest  ladies  of  all  talk 
about  that  small  clique  of  persons  to  whom  they  belong, 
and  why  should  our  Indian  friends  not  have  their  own 
conversation?— only  I  admit  it  is  slow  for  the  laymen 
wliose  fate  it  sometimes  is  to  sit  by  and  listen. 

Before  long  Emmy  had  a  visiting-book,  and  was  driv- 
ing about  regularly  in  a  carriage,  calling  upon  Lady 
Bludyer  (wife  of  JMajor-Creneral  Sir  Roger  Bludyer, 
K.  C'.  B.,  Bengal  Army)  ;  Lady  Huff,  wife  of  Sir  G. 
Huff,  Bombay  ditto;  JNIrs.  Pice,  the  Lady  of  Pice  the 
Director,  <^c.  We  are  not  long  in  using  ourselves  to 
changes  in  life.  That  carriage  came  round  to  Gillespie 
Sti-eet  every  day:  that  buttony  boy  sprang  up  and  down 

VOL.  III. 


226 


VANITY  FAIR 


from  the  box  with  Emmy's  and  Jos's  visiting-cards ;  at 
stated  hours  Emmy  and  the  carriage  went  for  Jos  to 
the  Club,  and  took  him  an  airing;  or,  putting  old  Sed- 
ley  into  the  vehicle,  she  drove  the  old  man  round  the 


Regent's  Park.  The  lady's  maid  and  the  chariot,  the 
visiting-book  and  the  buttony  page,  became  soon  as 
familiar  to  Amelia  as  the  humble  routine  of  Brompton. 
She  accommodated  herself  to  one  as  to  the  other.  If 
fate  had  ordained  that  she  should  be  a  duchess,  she  would 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO        227 

even  have  done  that  duty  too.  She  was  voted,  in 
Jos's  female  society,  rather  a  pleasing  young  per- 
son— not  much  in  her,  but  pleasing,  and  that  sort  of 
thing. 

The  men,  as  usual,  liked  her  artless  kindness  and  sim- 
ple refined  demeanour.  The  gallant  young  Indian  dan- 
dies at  home  on  furlough — immense  dandies  these — 
chained  and  moustached — driving  in  tearing  cabs,  the 
pillars  of  the  theatres,  living  at  West  End  Hotels, — 
nevertheless  admired  jNIrs.  Osborne,  liked  to  bow  to  her 
carriage  in  the  Park,  and  to  be  admitted  to  have  the 
lionour  of  paying  her  a  morning  visit.  Swankej"  of  the 
Body  Guard  himself,  that  dangerous  youth,  and  the 
greatest  buck  of  all  the  Indian  army  now  on  leave,  was 
one  day  discovered  by  jVIajor  Dobbin  tete-a-tete  with 
Amelia,  and  describing  the  sport  of  pig-sticking  to  her 
with  great  humour  and  eloquence:  and  he  spoke  after- 
wards of  a  d — d  king's  officer  that's  always  hanging 
about  the  house — a  long,  thin,  queer-looking  oldish  fel- 
low—  a  dry  fellow  though,  that  took  the  shine  out  of  a 
man  in  the  talking  line. 

Had  the  ]Major  possessed  a  little  more  personal  van- 
ity he  would  have  been  jealous  of  so  dangerous  a  young 
buck  as  that  fascinating  Bengal  Captain.  But  Dobbin 
was  of  too  simple  and  generous  a  nature  to  have  any 
doubts  about  Amelia.  He  was  glad  that  the  young  men 
should  pay  her  respect;  and  that  others  should  admire 
her.  Ever  since  her  womanhood  almost,  had  she  not 
})een  persecuted  and  undervalued?  It  pleased  him  to 
see  how  kindness  brought  out  her  good  qualities,  and 
liow  her  spirits  gently  rose  with  her  prosperity.  Any 
person  who  appreciated  her  paid  a  compliment  to  the 
jSIajor's  good  judgment — that  is,  if  a  man  may  be  said 


228  VANITY  FAIR 

to  have  good  judgment  who  is  under  the  influence  of 
Love's  delusion. 

After  Jos  went  to  Court,  which  we  mav  be  sure  he 
did  as  a  loyal  subject  of  his  Sovereign  (showing  himself 
in  his  full  court  suit  at  the  Club,  whither  Dobbin  came 
to  fetch  him  in  a  very  shabby  old  uniform, )  he  who  had 
always  been  a  staunch  Loyalist  and  admirer  of  George 
IV.,  became  such  a  tremendous  Tory  and  pillar  of  the 
State,  that  he  was  for  having  Amelia  to  go  to  a  Draw- 
ing-room, too.  He  somehow  had  worked  himself  up  to 
believe  that  he  was  implicated  in  the  maintenance  of  the 
public  welfare,  and  that  the  Sovereign  would  not  be 
happy  unless  Jos  Sedley  and  his  family  appeared  to 
rally  round  him  at  St.  James's. 

Emmy  laughed.  "  Shall  I  wear  the  family  diamonds, 
Jos? "  she  said. 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  buy  you  some,"  thought 
the  Major.  "  I  should  like  to  see  any  that  were  too 
good  for  you." 


CHAPTER  LXI 


IN  WHICH  TWO  LIGHTS  ARE  PUT  OUT 


HERE  came  a  day 
when  the  round  of 
decorous  pleasures 
and  solemn  gaie- 
ties in  which  Mr. 
Jos  Sedley's  fam- 
ily indulged, 
was  interrupted 
by  an  event 
which  happens 
in  most  houses. 
m  As  you  ascend 
^  the  staircase 
of  your  house 
from  the  draw- 
ing towards 
the  bed-room 
floors,  you  may 
have  remarked  a  little  arch  in  the  wall  right  before 
you,  which  at  once  gives  light  to  the  stair  which 
leads  frf)m  the  second  story  to  the  third  (where  the 
nursery  and  servants'  chambers  commonly  are)  and 
serves  for  another  ])urpose  of  utility,  of  wliich  tlie  under- 
taker's men  can  give  vou  a  notion.  Thev  rest  the  coffins 
upon  that  arch,  or  pass  tlicm  tlirough  it  so  as  not  to  dis- 

229 


230  VANITY  FAIR 

turb  in  any  unseemly  manner  the  cold  tenant  slumbering 
within  the  black  arch. 

That  second-floor  arch  in  a  London  house,  looking  up 
and  down  the  well  of  the  staircase,  and  commanding  the 
main  thoroughfare  by  which  the  inhabitants  are  passing ; 
by  which  cook  lurks  down  before  daylight  to  scour  her 
pots  and  pans  in  the  kitchen;  by  which  young  master 
stealthily  ascends,  having  left  his  boots  in  the  hall,  and 
let  himself  in  after  dawn  from  a  jolly  night  at  the  Club; 
down  which  miss  comes  rustling  in  fresh  ribbons  and 
spreading  muslins,  brilliant  and  beautiful,  and  prepared 
for  conquest  and  the  ball ;  or  master  Tommy  slides,  pre- 
ferring the  bannisters  for  a  mode  of  conveyance,  and  dis- 
daining danger  and  the  stair;  down  which  the  mother 
is  fondly  carried  smiling  in  her  strong  husband's  arms, 
as  he  steps  steadily  step  by  step,  and  followed  by 
the  monthly  nurse,  on  the  day  when  the  medical  man 
has  pronounced  that  the  charming  patient  may  go  down 
stairs;  up  which  John  lurks  to  bed,  yawning,  with  a 
sputtering  tallow  candle,  and  to  gather  up  before  sun- 
rise the  boots  which  are  awaiting  him  in  the  passages; — 
that  stair,  up  or  down  which  babies  are  carried,  old  peo- 
ple are  helped,  guests  are  marshalled  to  the  ball,  the 
parson  walks  to  the  christening,  the  doctor  to  the  sick 
room,  and  the  undertaker's  men  to  the  upper  floor — 
what  a  memento  of  Life,  Death,  and  Vanity  it  is — that 
arch  and  stair — if  you  choose  to  consider  it,  and  sit  on 
the  landing,  looking  up  and  down  the  well!  The  doc- 
tor will  come  up  to  us  too  for  the  last  time  there,  my 
friend  in  motley.  The  nurse  will  look  in  at  the  curtains, 
and  you  take  no  notice — and  then  she  will  fling  open  the 
windows  for  a  little,  and  let  in  the  air.  Then  they  will 
pull  down  all  the  front  blinds  of  the  house  and  live  in 


A  XOYEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO        231 

the  back  rooms — then  thev  will  send  for  the  lawyer  and 
other  men  m  black,  &:c. — Your  comedy  and  mine  will 
have  been  played  then,  and  we  shall  be  removed,  O  how 
far,  from  the  trumpets,  and  the  shouting,  and  the  pos- 
ture-making. If  we  are  gentlefolks  they  will  put 
hatchments  over  our  late  domicile,  w^ith  gilt  cherubim, 
and  mottoes  stating  that  there  is  "  Quiet  in  Heaven." 
Your  son  M-ill  new  furnish  the  house,  or  perhaps  let  it, 
and  go  into  a  more  modern  quarter;  your  name  will  be 
among  the  "  ]Members  Deceased,"  in  the  lists  of  your 
clubs  next  year.  However  much  you  may  be  mourned, 
your  widow  will  like  to  have  her  weeds  neatly  made — 
the  cook  will  send  or  come  up  to  ask  about  dinner — the 
survivor  will  soon  bear  to  look  at  your  picture  over  the 
mantel-piece,  which  will  presently  be  deposed  from  the 
j)lace  of  honour,  to  make  way  for  the  portrait  of  the  son 
who  reigns. 

Which  of  the  dead  are  most  tenderly  and  passionately 
deplored?  Those  who  love  the  survivors  the  least,  I 
believe.  The  death  of  a  child  occasions  a  passion  of 
grief  and  frantic  tears,  such  as  your  end,  brother  reader, 
will  never  inspire.  The  death  of  an  infant  which  scarce 
knew  you,  which  a  week's  absence  from  you  would  have 
caused  to  forget  you,  will  strike  you  down  more  than 
the  loss  of  your  closest  friend,  or  your  first-born  son  — 
a  man  grown  like  yourself,  with  children  of  his  own. 
We  may  be  harsh  and  stern  with  Judah  and  Simeon — 
our  love  and  pity  gush  out  for  Benjamin,  the  little  one. 
And  if  you  are  old,  as  some  reader  of  this  may  be  or 
shall  be — old  and  rich,  or  old  and  poor — you  may  one 
day  be  thinking  for  yourself — "  These  people  are  very 
good  round  about  me;  but  tliey  won't  grieve  too  much 
when  I  am  gone.     I  am  very  rich,  and  they  want  my 


232  VANITY  FAIR 

inheritance — or  very  poor,  and  they  are  tired  of  support- 
ing me." 

The  period  of  mourning  for  ]Mrs.  Sedley's  death  was 
only  just  conchided,  and  Jos  scarcely  had  had  time  to 
cast  off  his  black  and  appear  in  the  splendid  waistcoats 
which  he  loved,  when  it  became  evident  to  those  about 
Mr.  Sedley,  that  another  event  was  at  hand,  and  that 
the  old  man  was  about  to  go  seek  for  his  wife  in  the 
dark  land  whither  she  had  preceded  him.  "  The  state 
of  my  father's  health,"  Jos  Sedley  solemnly  remarked 
at  the  Club,  "  prevents  me  from  giving  any  large  parties 
this  season :  but  if  you  will  come  in  quietly  at  half -past 
six.  Chutney,  mj^  boy,  and  take  a  homely  dinner  with 
one  or  two  of  the  old  set — I  shall  be  always  glad  to  see 
you."  So  Jos  and  his  acquaintances  dined  and  drank 
their  claret  among  themselves  in  silence ;  whilst  the  sands 
of  life  were  running  out  in  the  old  man's  glass  up  stairs. 
The  velvet-footed  butler  brought  them  their  wine;  and 
they  composed  themselves  to  a  rubber  after  dinner:  at 
which  jMajor  Dobbin  would  sometimes  come  and  take 
a  hand :  and  Mrs.  Osborne  would  occasionallv  descend, 
when  her  patient  above  was  settled  for  the  night,  and 
had  commenced  one  of  those  lightly  troubled  slumbers 
which  visit  the  pillow  of  old  age. 

The  old  man  clung  to  his  daughter  during  this  sick- 
ness. He  would  take  his  broths  and  medicines  from 
scarcely  anj'^  other  hand.  To  tend  him  became  almost 
the  sole  business  of  her  life.  Her  bed  was  placed  close 
by  the  door  which  opened  into  his  chamber,  and  she  was 
alive  at  the  slightest  noise  or  disturbance  from  the  couch 
of  the  querulous  invalid.  Though,  to  do  him  justice, 
he  lay  awake  many  an  hour,  silent  and  without  stirring,, 
unwilling  to  awaken  his  kind  and  vigilant  nurse. 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO 


233 


He  lo^'ed  his  daughter  with  more  fondness  now,  per- 
haps, than  ever  he  had  done  since  the  days  of  her  child- 
hood. In  the  discharge  of  gentle  offices  and  kind  filial 
duties,  this  simple  creature  shone  most  especially.  "  She 
walks  into  the  room  as  silently  as  a  sunbeam,"  Mr.  Dob- 


bin thought,  as  he  saw  her  passing  in  and  out  from  her 
father's  room ;  a  cheerful  sweetness  lighting  up  her  face 
as  she  moved  to  and  fro,  graceful  and  noiseless.  AVhen 
women  are  brooding  over  their  children,  or  busied  in  a 
sick  v(X)m,  who  has  not  seen  in  their  faces  those  sweet 
angelic  beams  of  love  and  ])ity? 

A  secret  feud  of  some  years'  standing  was  thus  healed: 
and  with  a  tacit  reconciliation.  In  these  last  hoiu's,  and 
touched  by  lier  love  and  goodness,  the  old  man  forgot 


234  VANITY  FAIR 

all  his  grief  against  her,  and  wrongs  which  he  and  his 
wife  had  many  a  long  night  debated :  how  she  had  given 
up  everything  for  her  boy :  how  she  was  careless  of  her 
l^arents  in  their  old  age  and  misfortune,  and  only 
thought  of  the  child:  how  absurdly  and  foolishly,  im- 
piously indeed,  she  took  on,  when  George  was  removed 
from  her.  Old  Sedley  forgot  these  charges  as  he  was 
making  up  his  last  account,  and  did  justice  to  the  gentle 
and  uncomplaining  little  martyr.  One  night  when  she 
stole  into  his  room,  she  found  him  awake,  when  the 
broken  old  man  made  his  confession.  "  O,  Emmy,  I've 
been  thinking  we  were  very  unkind  and  unjust  to  you," 
he  said,  and  put  out  his  cold  and  feeble  hand  to  her.  She 
knelt  down  and  j)i'ayed  by  his  bedside,  as  he  did  too, 
having  still  hold  of  her  hand.  When  our  turn  comes, 
friend,  may  we  have  such  company  in  our  prayers. 

Perhaps  as  he  was  lying  awake  then,  his  life  may  have 
2:)assed  before  him — his  early  hopeful  struggles,  his 
manly  successes  and  prosperity,  his  downfall  in  his  de- 
clining years,  and  his  present  helpless  condition — no 
chance  of  revenge  against  Fortune,  which  had  had  the 
better  of  him — neither  name  nor  money  to  bequeath — 
a  spent-out,  bootless  life  of  defeat  and  disappointment, 
and  the  end  here!  Which,  I  wonder,  brother  i-eader, 
is  the  better  lot,  to  die  prosperous  and  famous,  or  poor 
and  disappointed  ?  To  have,  and  to  be  forced  to  yield ; 
or  to  sink  out  of  life,  having  played  and  lost  the  game? 
That  must  be  a  strange  feeling,  when  a  day  of  our  life 
comes  and  we  say,  "  To-morrow j,  success  or  failure  won't 
matter  much :  and  the  sun  will  rise,  and  all  the  myriads 
of  mankind  go  to  their  work  or  their  pleasure  as  usual, 
but  I  shall  be  out  of  the  turmoil." 

So  there  came  one  morning  and  sunrise,  when  all  the 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO        235 

world  got  up  and  set  about  its  various  works  and  plea- 
sures, with  the  exception  of  old  John  Sedley,  who  was 
not  to  fight  with  fortune,  or  to  hope  or  scheme  any  more : 
but  to  go  and  take  up  a  quiet  and  utterly  unknown  resi- 
dence in  a  churchyard  at  Brompton  by  the  side  of  his 
old  wife. 

Major  Dobbin,  Jos,  and  Georgy  followed  his  remains 
to  the  grave,  in  a  black  cloth  coach.  Jos  came  on  pur- 
])ose  from  the  Star  and  Garter  at  Richmond,  whither  he 
retreated  after  the  deplorable  event.  He  did  not  care 
to  remain  in  the  house,  with  the— under  the  circum- 
stances, you  understand.  But  Emmy  stayed  and  did 
her  duty  as  usual.  She  was  bowed  down  by  no  especial 
grief,  and  rather  solemn  than  sorrowful.  She  prayed 
that  her  own  end  might  be  as  calm  and  painless,  and 
thought  with  trust  and  reverence  of  the  words  which 
she  had  heard  from  her  father  during  his  illness,  indica- 
tive of  his  faith,  his  resignation,  and  his  future  hope. 

Yes,  I  think  that  will  be  the  better  ending  of  the  two, 
after  all.  Suppose  you  are  particularly  rich  and  well 
to  do,  and  say  on  that  last  day,  "  I  am  very  rich ;  I  am 
tolerably  well  known ;  I  have  lived  all  my  life  in  the  best 
society,  and  thank  Heaven,  come  of  a  most  respectable 
family.  I  have  served  my  King  and  country  with  hon- 
our. I  was  in  Parliament  for  several  years,  where,  I 
may  say,  my  speeches  were  listened  to,  and  pretty  well 
received.  I  don't  owe  any  man  a  shilling:  on  the  con- 
trary, I  lent  my  old  college  friend,  Jack  I^azarus,  fifty 
pounds,  for  whicli  my  executors  will  not  press  him.  I 
leave  my  daughters  with  ten  thousand  ])ounds  a-])iece — 
very  good  portions  for  girls:  I  bequeath  my  plate  and 
furniture,  my  house  in  Baker  Street,  with  a  Iiandsome 
jointure,  to  my  widow  for  her  life;    and  my  landed 


236  VANITY  FAIR 

property,  besides  money  in  the  funds,  and  my  cellar 
of  well-selected  wine  in  Baker  Street,  to  my  son.  I 
leave  twenty  pound  a-year  to  my  valet;  and  I  defy 
any  man  after  I  am  gone  to  find  anything  against  my 
character."  Or  suppose,  on  the  other  hand,  your  swan 
sings  quite  a  different  sort  of  dirge,  and  you  say,  "  I 
am  a  poor  blighted,  disappointed  old  fellow,  and  have 
made  an  utter  failure  through  life.  I  was  not  endowed 
either  with  brains  or  with  good  fortune:  and  confess 
that  I  have  committed  a  hundred  mistakes  and  blunders. 
I  own  to  having  forgotten  my  dutj^^  many  a  time.  I 
can't  pay  what  I  owe.  On  my  last  bed  I  lie  utterly 
helpless  and  humble:  and  I  pray  forgiveness  for  my 
weakness,  and  throw  myself  with  a  contrite  heart,  at  the 
feet  of  the  Divine  Mercy."  Which  of  these  two  speeches, 
think  you,  would  be  the  best  oration  for  your  own  fu- 
neral? Old  Sedley  made  the  last;  and  in  that  humble 
frame  of  mind,  and  holding  by  the  hand  of  his  daughter, 
life  and  disappointment  and  vanity  sank  away  from 
under  him. 

"  You  see,"  said  old  Osborne  to  George,  "  what  comes 
of  merit  and  industry,  and  judicious  speculations,  and 
that.  Look  at  me  and  my  banker's  account.  Look  at 
your  poor  grandfather,  Sedley,  and  his  failure.  And 
yet  he  was  a  better  man  than  I  was,  this  day  twenty 
years — a  better  man,  I  should  say,  by  ten  thousand 
pound." 

Beyond  these  people  and  ]Mr.  Clapp's  family,  who 
came  over  from  Brompton  to  pay  a  visit  of  condolence, 
not  a  single  soul  alive  ever  cared  a  penny  piece  about 
old  John  Sedley,  or  remembered  the  existence  of  such 
a  person. 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO        237 

AVhen  old  Osborne  first  heard  from  his  friend  Colo- 
nel Buckler  (as  little  Georgy  has  already  informed 
us)  how  distinguished  an  officer  jNlajor  Dobbin  was, 
he  exliibited  a  great  deal  of  scornful  incredulity,  and 
expressed  his  surprise  how  ever  such  a  feller  as  that 
should  possess  either  brains  or  reputation.  But  he  heard 
of  the  ^Major's  fame  from  various  members  of  his  so- 
ciety. Sir  William  Dobbin  had  a  great  opinion  of  his 
son,  and  narrated  many  stories  illustrative  of  the  Major's 
learning,  valour,  and  estimation  in  the  world's  opinion. 
Finally,  his  name  appeared  in  the  lists  of  one  or  two 
great  parties  of  the  nobility;  and  this  circumstance  had 
a  prodigious  effect  upon  the  old  aristocrat  of  Russell 
Square. 

The  ^Major's  position,  as  guardian  to  Georgy,  whose 
possession  had  been  ceded  to  his  grandfather,  rendered 
some  meetings  between  the  two  gentlemen  inevitable; 
and  it  was  in  one  of  these  that  old  Osborne,  a  keen  man 
of  business,  looking  into  the  Major's  accounts  with  his 
ward  and  the  boy's  mother,  got  a  hint  which  staggered 
liim  very  much,  and  at  once  pained  and  pleased  him, 
that  it  was  out  of  William  Dobbin's  own  pocket  that  a 
part  of  the  fund  had  been  supplied  upon  which  the  poor 
widow  and  the  child  had  subsisted. 

\\'hen  pressed  upon  the  point,  Dobbin,  who  could  not 
tell  lies,  blushed  and  stammered  a  good  deal,  and  finally 
confessed.  "  The  marriage,"  he  said,  (at  which  his  in- 
terlocutor's face  grew  dark,)  "  was  very  much  my  doing. 
I  thought  my  poor  friend  had  gone  so  far,  that  retreat 
from  his  engagement  would  have  been  dishonour  to 
liim,  and  death  to  ]Mrs.  Osborne;  and  I  could  do  no  less, 
wlien  slie  was  left  without  resources,  than  give  what 
money  I  could  spare  to  maintain  her." 


238  VANITY   FAIR 

"  Major  D.,"  Mr.  Osborne  said,  looking  hard  at  him, 
and  turning  very  red  too — "  you  did  me  a  great  injury; 
but  give  me  leave  to  tell  you,  sir,  you  are  an  honest  feller. 
There's  my  hand,  sir,  though  I  little  thought  that  my 
flesh  and  blood  was  living  on  you — "  and  the  pair  shook 
hands,  with  great  confusion  on  Major  Dobbin's  part, 
thus  found  out  in  his  act  of  charitable  hypocrisy. 

He  strove  to  soften  the  old  man,  and  reconcile  him 
towards  his  son's  memory.  "  He  was  such  a  noble  fel- 
low," he  said,  "  that  all  of  us  loved  him,  and  would  have 
done  anything  for  him.  I,  as  a  young  man  in  those  days, 
was  flattered  beyond  measure  by  his  preference  for  me; 
and  was  more  pleased  to  be  seen  in  his  company  than  in 
that  of  the  Commander-in-Chief.  I  never  saw  his  equal 
for  pluck  and  daring,  and  all  the  qualities  of  a  soldier;  " 
and  Dobbin  told  the  old  father  as  many  stories  as  he 
could  remember  regarding  the  gallantry  and  achieve- 
ments of  his  son.  "  And  Georgy  is  so  like  him,"  the 
Major  added. 

"  He's  so  like  him  that  he  makes  me  tremble  some- 
times," the  grandfather  said. 

On  one  or  two  evenings  the  Major  came  to  dine  with 
Mr.  Osborne  (it  was  during  the  time  of  the  sickness  of 
Mr.  Sedley),  and  as  the  two  sate  together  in  the  even- 
ing after  dinner  all  their  talk  was  about  the  departed 
hero.  The  father  boasted  about  him  according  to  his 
wont,  glorifying  himself  in  recounting  his  son's  feats 
and  gallantry,  but  his  mood  was  at  any  rate  better  and 
more  charitable  than  that  in  which  he  had  been  disposed 
until  now  to  regard  the  poor  fellow ;  and  the  Christian 
heart  of  the  kind  Major  was  pleased  at  these  symptoms 
of  returning  peace  and  good  will.  On  the  second  even- 
ing old  Osborne  called  Dobbin,  William,  just  as  he  used 


A    NOVEL    WITHOUT    A    HERO       239 

to  do  at  the  time  when  Dobbin  and  George  were  boys 
together :  and  the  honest  gentleman  was  pleased  by  that 
mark  of  reconciliation. 

On  the  next  day  at  breakfast  when  INIiss  Osborne,  with 
the  asperity  of  her  age  and  character,  ventured  to  make 
some  remark  reflecting  slightingly  upon  the  Major's  ap- 
pearance or  behaviour — the  master  of  the  house  inter- 
rupted her.  "  You'd  have  been  glad  enough  to  git  him 
for  5'ourself ,  3Iiss  O.  But  them  grapes  are  sour.  Ha! 
ha!     ^lajor  William  is  a  flne  feller." 

"  That  he  is,  Grandpapa,"  said  Georgy,  approvingly: 
and  going  up  close  to  the  old  gentleman  he  took  a  hold 
of  his  large  grey  whiskers,  and  laughed  in  his  face  good- 
humouredly  and  kissed  him.  And  he  told  the  story  at 
night  to  his  mother:  who  fully  agreed  with  the  boy. 
"  Indeed  he  is,"  she  said.  "  Your  dear  father  always 
said  so.  He  is  one  of  the  best  and  most  upright  of  men." 
Dobbin  happened  to  drop  in  very  soon  after  this  con- 
versation, which  made  Amelia  blush  perhaps:  and  the 
young  scapegrace  increased  the  confusion  by  telling 
Dobbin  the  other  part  of  the  story.  "  I  say,  Dob,"  he 
said,  "  there's  such  an  uncommon  nice  girl  wants  to 
marry  you.  She's  plenty  of  tin :  she  wears  a  front :  and 
she  scolds  the  ser%'ants  from  morning  till  night."  "  Who 
is  it?  "  asked  Dobbin. 

"  It's  Aunt  O.,"  the  boy  answered.  "  Grandpapa  said 
so.  And  I  say.  Dob,  how  prime  it  would  be  to  have  you 
for  my  uncle."  Old  Sedley's  quavering  voice  from  the 
next  room  at  this  moment  weakly  called  for  Amelia  and 
the  laughing  ended. 

That  old  Osborne's  mind  was  changing,  was  pi-etty 
clear.  He  asked  George  about  liis  uncle  sometimes,  and 
laughed  at  tlie  boy's  imitation  of  the  way  in  which  Jos 


240  VANITY  FAIR 

said,  "  God-bless-my-soul,"  and  gobbled  his  soup.  Then 
he  said,  "  It's  not  respectful,  sir,  of  you  younkers  to  be 
imitating  of  your  relations.  Miss  O.,  when  you  go  out 
a-driving  to-day,  leave  my  card  upon  Mr.  Sedley,  do 
you  hear?  There's  no  quarrel  betwigst  me  and  him  any- 
how." 

The  card  was  returned,  and  Jos  and  the  Major  were 
asked  to  dinner, — to  a  dinner  the  most  splendid  and 
stupid  that  perhaps  ever  JNIr.  Osborne  gave ;  every  inch 
of  the  family  plate  was  exliibited,  and  the  best  company 
was  asked.  Mr.  Sedley  took  down  Miss  O.  to  dinner, 
and  she  was  very  gracious  to  him;  whereas  she  hardly 
spoke  to  the  Major,  who  sat  apart  from  her,  and  by  the 
side  of  Mr.  Osborne,  very  timid.  Jos  said,  with  great 
solemnity,  it  was  the  best  turtle  soup  he  had  ever  tasted 
in  his  life;  and  asked  Mr.  Osborne  where  he  got  his 
Madeira  ? 

"  It  is  some  of  Sedley's  wine,"  whispered  the  butler 
to  his  master.  "  I've  had  it  a  long  time,  and  paid  a  good 
figure  for  it,  too,"  Mr.  Osborne  said  aloud  to  his  guest; 
and  then  whispered  to  his  right-hand  neighbour  how  he 
had  got  it  "  at  the  old  chap's  sale." 

More  than  once  he  asked  the  Major  about — about 
Mrs.  George  Osborne— a  theme  on  which  the  Major 
could  be  very  eloquent  when  he  chose.  He  told  Mr.  Os- 
borne of  her  sufferings — of  her  passionate  attachment 
to  her  husband,  whose  memory  she  worshipped  still — of 
the  tender  and  dutiful  manner  in  which  she  had  sup- 
ported her  parents,  and  given  up  her  boy,  when  it 
seemed  to  her  her  duty  to  do  so.  "  You  don't  know  what 
she  endured,  sir,"  said  honest  Dobbin  with  a  tremor  in 
his  voice;  "  and  I  hope  and  trust  you  will  be  reconciled 
to  her.    If  she  took  your  son  away  from  you,  she  gave 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO       241 

hers  to  you ;  and  however  much  you  loved  your  George, 
depend  on  it,  she  loved  hers  ten  times  more." 

"  By  God,  you  are  a  good  feller,  sir,"  was  all  ^Ir= 
Osborne  said.  It  had  never  struck  him  that  the  widow 
would  feel  any  pain  at  parting  from  the  boy,  or  that  his 
having  a  fine  fortune  could  grieve  her.  A  reconciliation 
was  announced  as  speedy  and  inevitable;  and  Amelia's 
heart  already  began  to  beat  at  the  notion  of  the  awful 
meeting  with  George's  father. 

It  was  never,  however,  destined  to  take  place.  Old 
Sedley's  lingering  illness  and  death  supervened,  after 
which  a  meeting  was  for  some  time  impossible.  That 
catastrophe  and  other  events  may  have  worked  upon 
]Mr.  Osborne.  He  was  much  shaken  of  late,  and  aged, 
and  his  mind  was  working  inwardly.  He  had  sent  for 
his  lawyers,  and  probably  changed  something  in  his  will. 
The  medical  man  who  looked  in,  pronounced  him  shaky, 
agitated,  and  talked  of  a  little  blood  and  the  sea-side; 
but  he  took  neither  of  these  remedies. 

One  da}^  when  he  should  have  come  down  to  breakfast, 
his  servant  missing  him,  went  into  his  dressing-room, 
and  found  him  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  dressing-table 
in  a  fit.  ]Miss  Osborne  was  apprised ;  the  doctors  were 
sent  for,  Georgy  stopped  away  from  school;  the  bleed- 
ers and  cuppers  came.  Osborne  partially  regained  cog- 
nizance; but  never  could  speak  again,  though  he  tried 
dreadfully  once  or  twice,  and  in  four  days  he  died.  The 
doctors  went  down,  and  the  undertaker's  men  went  up  the 
stairs;  and  all  the  shutters  were  shut  towards  the  garden 
in  llussell  S(|iiare.  ]5iillock  rushed  from  tlie  City  in  a 
hurry.  "  How  much  money  had  he  left  to  that  boy? — 
not  half,  surely?  Surely  share  and  share  alike  between 
the  three?  "    It  was  an  agitating  moment. 

VOL.  III. 


242  VANITY  FAIR 

What  was  it  that  poor  old  man  tried  once  or  twice  in 
vain  to  say?  I  hope  it  was  that  he  wanted  to  see  Ameha, 
and  be  reconciled  before  he  left  the  world  to  the  dear 
and  faithful  wife  of  his  son:  it  was  most  likelv  that; 
for  his  will  showed  that  the  hatred  which  he  had  so  long 
cherished  had  gone  out  of  his  heart. 

They  found  in  the  pocket  of  his  dressing-gown  the 
letter  with  the  great  red  seal,  w^hich  George  had  written 
him  from  Waterloo.  He  had  looked  at  the  other  papers 
too,  relative  to  his  son,  for  the  key  of  the  box  in  which 
he  kept  them  was  also  in  his  pocket,  and  it  was  found 
the  seals  and  envelopes  had  been  broken — very  likely  on 
the  night  before  the  seizure — when  the  butler  had  taken 
him  tea  into  his  study,  and  found  him  reading  in  the 
great  red  family  Bible. 

When  the  will  was  opened,  it  was  found  that  half  the 
property  was  left  to  George,  and  the  remainder  between 
the  two  sisters.  Mr.  Bullock  to  contiime,  for  their  joint 
benefit,  the  affairs  of  the  commercial  house,  or  to  go  out, 
as  he  thought  fit.  An  annuity  of  five  hundred  pounds, 
chargeable  on  George's  property,  was  left  to  his  mother, 
"  the  widow  of  my  beloved  son,  George  Osborne,"  who 
was  to  resume  the  guardianship  of  the  boy. 

"  Major  William  Dobbin,  my  beloved  son's  friend," 
was  appointed  executor;  "and  as  out  of  his  kindness 
and  bounty,  and  with  his  own  private  funds,  he  main- 
tained my  grandson  and  my  son's  widow,  when  they 
were  otherwise  without  means  of  support,"  (the  testa- 
tor went  on  to  say,)  "  I  hereby  thank  him  heartily  for 
his  love  and  regard  for  them :  and  beseech  him  to  accept 
such  a  sum  as  may  be  sufficient  to  purchase  his  commis- 
sion as  a  Lieutenant-Colonel,  or  to  be  disposed  of  in  any 
way  he  may  think  fit." 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT  A  HERO        243 

When  Amelia  heard  that  her  father-in-law  was  recon- 
ciled to  her,  her  heart  melted,  and  she  was  grateful  for 
the  fortune  left  to  her.  But  when  she  heard  how  G^orgj^ 
was  restored  to  her,  and  knew  how  and  by  whom,  and 
how  it  was  William's  bounty  that  supported  her  in  pov- 
erty, how  it  was  AViliiam  who  gave  her  her  husband  and 
her  son — O,  then  she  sank  on  her  knees,  and  prayed 
for  blessings  on  that  constant  and  kind  heart :  she  bowed 
down  and  humbled  herself,  and  kissed  the  feet,  as  it 
were,  of  that  beautiful  and  generous  affection. 

And  gratitude  was  all  that  she  had  to  pay  back  for 
such  admirable  devotion  and  benefits — only  gratitude! 
If  she  thought  of  any  other  return,  the  image  of  George 
stood  up  out  of  the  grave,  and  said,  "  You  are  mine,  and 
mine  only,  now  and  for  ever." 

William  knew  her  feelings:  had  he  not  passed  his 
whole  life  in  divining  them? 

When  the  nature  of  INIr.  Osborne's  will  became  known 
to  the  world,  it  was  edifying  to  remark  how  Mrs.  George 
Osborne  rose  in  the  estimation  of  the  people  forming  her 
circle  of  acquaintance.  The  servants  of  Jos's  establish- 
ment, who  used  to  question  her  humble  orders,  and  say 
they  would  "  ask  Master,"  whether  or  not  they  could 
obey,  never  thouglit  now  of  that  sort  of  appeal.  The 
cook  forgot  to  sneer  at  her  shabby  old  gowns  (which, 
indeed,  were  quite  eclipsed  by  that  lady's  finery  when 
she  was  dressed  to  go  to  church  of  a  Sunday  evening), 
the  others  no  longer  grumbled  at  the  sound  of  her  bell, 
or  delayed  to  answer  that  summons.  The  coachman, 
who  grumbled  that  his  'osses  should  be  brouglit  out,  and 
liis  carriage  made  into  an  liospital  for  tliat  old  feller  and 
Mrs.  O.,  drove  her  with  the  utmost  alacrity  now,  and 


2U  VANITY  FAIR 

trembling  lest  he  should  be  superseded  by  Mr.  Os- 
borne's coachman,  asked  "  what  them  there  Russell 
Square  coachmen  knew  about  town,  and  whether  they 
was  fit  to  sit  on  a  box  before  a  lady?  "  Jos's  friends, 
male  and  female,  suddenly  became  interested  about 
Emmy,  and  cards  of  condolence  multiplied  on  her  hall 
table.  Jos  himself,  who  had  looked  on  her  as  a  good- 
natured  harmless  pauper,  to  whom  it  was  his  duty  to 
give  victuals  and  shelter,  paid  her  and  the  rich  little  boy, 
his  nephew,  the  greatest  respect — was  anxious  that  she 
should  have  change  and  amusement  after  her  troubles 
and  trials,  "  poor  dear  girl " — and  began  to  appear  at 
the  breakfast-table,  and  most  particularly  to  ask  how 
she  would  like  to  dispose  of  the  day. 

In  her  capacity  of  guardian  to  Georgy,  she,  with  the 
consent  of  the  Major,  her  fellow-trustee,  begged  Miss 
Osborne  to  live  in  the  Russell  Square  house  as  long  as 
ever  she  chose  to  dwell  there ;  but  that  lady,  with  thanks, 
declared  that  she  never  could  think  of  remaining  alone 
in  that  melancholy  mansion,  and  departed  in  deep 
mourning  to  Cheltenham,  with  a  couple  of  her  old  do- 
mestics. The  rest  were  liberally  paid  and  dismissed; 
the  faithful  old  butler,  whom  Mrs.  Osborne  proposed  to 
retain,  resigning  and  preferring  to  invest  his  savings  in 
a  public-house,  where,  let  us  hope,  he  was  not  unpros- 
perous.  Miss  Osborne  not  choosing  to  live  in  Russell 
Square,  Mrs.  Osborne  also,  after  consultation,  declined 
to  occupy  the  gloomy  old  mansion  there.  The  house  was 
dismantled;  the  rich  furniture  and  effects,  the  awful 
chandeliers  and  dreary  blank  mirrors  packed  away  and 
hidden,  the  rich  rosewood  drawing-room  suite  was  muf- 
fled in  straw,  the  carpets  were  rolled  up  and  corded,  the 
small  select  library  of  well-bound  books  was  stowed  into 


A   XOVEL  WITHOUT   A   HERO        245 

two  wine-chests,  and  the  whole  paraphernaha  rolled 
awav  in  several  enormous  vans  to  the  Pantechnicon, 
where  they  were  to  lie  until  Georgy's  majority. 
And  the  great  heavy  dark  plate-chests  went  off  to 
Messrs.  Stumjjy  and  Rowdy,  to  lie  in  the  cellars  of 
those  eminent  bankers  until  the  same  period  should 
arrive. 

One  day  Emmy  with  George  in  her  hand  and  clad  in 
deep  sables  went  to  visit  the  deserted  mansion  which  she 
had  not  entered  since  she  was  a  girl.  The  place  in  front 
was  littered  with  straw  where  the  vans  had  been  laden 
and  rolled  off.  They  went  into  the  great  blank  rooms, 
the  walls  of  which  bore  the  marks  where  the  pictures  and 
mirrors  had  hung.  Then  they  went  up  the  great  blank 
stone-staircases  into  the  upper  rooms,  into  that  where 
grandpapa  died,  as  George  said  in  a  whisper,  and  then 
higher  still  into  George's  own  room.  The  boy  was  still 
clinging  by  her  side,  but  she  thought  of  another  besides 
him.  She  knew  that  it  had  been  his  father's  room  as 
well  as  his  own. 

She  went  up  to  one  of  the  open  windows  (one  of  those 
at  which  she  used  to  gaze  with  a  sick  heart  when  the  child 
was  first  taken  from  her),  and  thence  as  she  looked  out 
she  could  see,  over  the  trees  of  Russell  Square,  the  old 
house  in  which  she  herself  was  born,  and  where  she 
had  passed  so  many  happy  days  of  sacred  youtli.  They 
all  came  back  to  her,  the  pleasant  holidays,  the  kind 
faces,  the  careless,  joyful  past  times:  and  the  long  pains 
and  trials  that  had  since  cast  her  down.  She  thou<>lit 
of  these  and  of  the  man  who  had  been  her  constant  pro- 
tector, her  good  genius,  her  sole  benefactor,  her  tender 
and  generous  friend. 

"  I^ook  here,  motlier,"  said  Georgy,  "  here's  a  (r.  O. 


246  VANITY  FAIR 

scratched  on  the  glass  with  a  diamond;  I  never  saw  it 
before,  I  never  did  it." 

"  It  was  your  father's  room  long  before  you  were 
born,  George,"  she  said,  and  she  blushed  as  she  kissed 
the  boy. 

She  was  very  silent  as  they  drove  back  to  Richmond 
where  they  had  taken  a  temporarj^  house:  where  the 
smiling  lawyers  used  to  come  bustling  over  to  see  her 
(and  we  may  be  sure  noted  the  visit  in  the  bill)  :  and 
where  of  course  there  was  a  room  for  Major  Dobbin  too, 
who  rode  over  frequentlj^  having  much  business  to 
transact  on  behalf  of  his  little  ward. 

Georgy  at  this  time  was  removed  from  Mr.  Veal's  on 
an  unlimited  holiday,  and  that  gentleman  was  engaged 
to  prepare  an  inscription  for  a  fine  marble  slab,  to  be 
placed  up  in  the  Foundling  under  the  monument  of 
Captain  George  Osborne. 

The  female  Bullock,  aunt  of  Georgy,  although  de- 
spoiled by  that  little  monster  of  one-half  of  the  sum 
which  she  expected  from  her  father,  nevertheless  showed 
her  charitableness  of  spirit  by  being  reconciled  to  the 
mother  and  the  boy.  Roehampton  is  not  far  from  Rich- 
mond, and  one  day  the  chariot,  with  the  golden  bullocks 
emblazoned  on  the  panels,  and  the  flaccid  children 
within,  drove  to  Amelia's  house  at  Richmond;  and  the 
Bullock  family  made  an  irruption  into  the  garden,  where 
Amelia  was  reading  a  book,  Jos  was  in  an  arbour 
placidly  dipping  strawberries  into  wine,  and  the 
Major  in  one  of  his  Indian  jackets  was  giving  a  back 
to  Georgy,  who  chose  to  jump  over  him.  He  went 
over  his  head,  and  bounded  into  the  little  advance 
of  Bullocks,  with  immense  black  bows  in  their  hats. 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT  A  HERO        247 

and  huge  black  sashes,  accompanying  their  mourning 
mamma. 

"  He  is  just  of  the  age  for  Rosa,"  the  fond  parent 
thought,  and  glanced  towards  that  dear  child,  an  un- 
wholesome little  iNIiss  of  seven  years  of  age. 

"  Rosa,  go  and  kiss  your  dear  cousin,"  jNIrs.  Frederick 
said.    "  Don't  you  know  me,  George? — I  am  your  aunt." 

"  /  know  you  well  enough,"  George  said;  "  but  I  don't 
like  kissing,  please ;  "  and  he  retreated  from  the  obedient 
caresses  of  his  cousin. 

"  Take  me  to  your  dear  mamma,  you  droll  child,"  ]Mrs. 
Frederick  said;  and  those  ladies  accordingly  met,  after 
an  absence  of  more  than  fifteen  years.  During  Emmy's 
cares  and  poverty  the  other  had  never  once  thought  about 
coming  to  see  her ;  but  now  that  she  was  decently  pros- 
perous ill  the  world,  her  sister-in-law  came  to  her  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

So  did  numbers  more.  Our  old  friend,  Miss  Swartz, 
and  her  husband  came  thundering  over  from  Hampton 
Court,  with  flaming  yellow  liveries,  and  was  as  impetu- 
ously fond  of  Amelia  as  ever.  jNIiss  Swartz  would  have 
liked  her  always  if  she  could  have  seen  her.  One  must 
do  her  that  justice.  But,  que  voulez  vous?— in  this  vast 
town  one  has  not  the  time  to  go  and  seek  one's  friends; 
if  they  dro])  out  of  the  rank  they  disappear,  and  we 
march  on  without  them.  Who  is  ever  missed  in  Vanity 
Fair? 

But  so,  in  a  word,  and  before  the  period  of  grief  for 
]Mr.  Osborne's  death  had  sul)sided,  Emmy  found  herself 
in  the  centre  of  a  very  genteel  circle  indeed ;  the  members 
of  which  could  not  conceive  that  anybody  belonging  to 
it  was  not  very  lucky.  There  was  scarce  one  of  the  ladies 
that  hadn't  a  relation  a  peer,  though  the  husl)and  might 


248  VANITY  FAIR 

be  a  diysalter  in  the  City.  Some  of  the  ladies  were  very 
blue  and  well  informed;  reading  Mrs.  Somerville,  and 
frequenting  the  Royal  Institution;  others  were  severe 
and  Evangelical,  and  held  bj^  Exeter  Hall.  Emmy,  it 
must  be  owned,  found  herself  entirely  at  a  loss  in  the 
midst  of  their  clavers,  and  suffered  wofully  on  the  one 
or  two  occasions  on  which  she  was  compelled  to  accept 
Mrs.  Frederick  Bullock's  hospitalities.  That  lady  per- 
sisted in  patronising  her,  and  determined  most  graciously 
to  form  her.  She  found  Amelia's  milliners  for  her,  and 
regulated  her  household  and  her  manners.  She  drove 
over  constantly  from  Roehampton,  and  entertained  her 
friend  with  faint  fashionable  fiddlefaddle  and  feeble 
Court  slipslop.  Jos  liked  to  hear  it,  but  the  jNIajor  used 
to  go  off  growling  at  the  appearance  of  this  woman,  with 
her  twopenny  gentility.  He  went  to  sleep  under  Fred- 
erick Bullock's  bald  head,  after  dinner,  at  one  of  the 
banker's  best  parties,  (Fred  was  still  anxious  that  the 
balance  of  the  Osborne  property  should  be  transferred 
from  Stumpy  and  Rowdy's  to  them) ,  and  whilst  Amelia, 
who  did  not  know  Latin,  or  who  wrote  the  last  crack 
article  in  the  Edinburgh,  and  did  not  in  the  least  deplore, 
or  otherwise,  Mr.  Peel's  late  extraordinary  tergiversa- 
tion on  the  fatal  Catholic  Relief  Bill,  sate  dumb  amongst 
the  ladies  in  the  grand  drawing-room,  looking  out  upon 
velvet  lawns,  trim  gravel  walks,  and  glistening  hot- 
houses. 

"  She  seems  good-natured  but  insipid,"  said  Mrs. 
Rowdy;  "  that  Major  seems  to  be  particularly  epris." 

"  She  wants  ton  sadly,"  said  Mrs.  Hollvock.  "  Mv 
dear  creature,  you  never  will  be  able  to  form  her." 

"  She  is  dreadfully  ignorant  or  indifferent,"  said  Mrs. 
Glowry,  with  a  voice  as  if  from  the  grave,  and  a  sad 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO        249 

shake  of  the  head  and  turban. — "  I  asked  her  if  she 
thought  that  it  was  in  1836,  according  to  ]Mr.  Jowls,  or 
in  1839,  according  to  ]Mr.  Wapshot,  that  the  Pope  w^as 
to  fall:  and  she  said—'  Poor  Pope!  I  hope  not — What 
has  he  done? '  " 

"  She  is  my  brother's  widow,  my  dear  friends,"  INIrs. 
Frederick  replied,  "  and  as  such  I  think  we're  all  bound 
to  give  her  every  attention  and  instruction  on  entering 
into  the  world.  You  may  fancy  there  can  be  no  mer- 
cenary  motives  in  those  whose  disappointments  are  well 
known." 

"  That  poor  dear  ]Mrs.  Bullock,"  said  Rowdy  to  Hol- 
lyock,  as  they  drove  away  together — "  she  is  always 
scheming  and  managing.  She  wants  jNIrs.  Osborne's 
account  to  be  taken  from  our  house  to  hers — and  the  way 
in  which  she  coaxes  that  boy,  and  makes  him  sit  by  that 
blear-eyed  little  Rosa,  is  perfectly  ridiculous." 

"  I  wish  dowry  was  choked  with  her  IVIan  of  Sin  and 
her  Battle  of  Armageddon,"  cried  the  other;  and  the 
carriage  rolled  away  over  Putney  Bridge. 

But  this  sort  of  society  was  too  cruelly  genteel  for 
Emmy;  and  all  jumped  for  joy  when  a  foreign  tour 
was  proposed. 


CHAPTER   LXII 


AM   RHEIN 


'^HE  above  every-day 
events  had  occurred, 
and  a  few  weeks  had 
passed,  when,  on  one 
fine  morning,  Parlia- 
ment being  over,  the 
summer  advanced, 
and  all  the  good 
company  in  London 
about  to  quit  that 
city  for  their  annual 
tour  in  search  of 
"r./TTT^r TTT  \  \  pleasure    or    health, 

the  Batavier  steamboat  left  the  Tower-stairs  laden  with 
a  goodly  company  of  English  fugitives.  The  quarter- 
deck awnings  were  up,  and  the  benches  and  gangways 
crowded  with  scores  of  rosy  children,  bustling  nurse- 
maids, ladies  in  the  prettiest  pink  bonnets  and  summer 
dresses,  gentlemen  in  travelling  caps  and  linen  jackets, 
whose  moustachios  had  just  begun  to  sprout  for  the  ensu- 
ing tour ;  and  stout  trim  old  veterans  with  starched  neck- 
cloths and  neat-brushed  hats,  such  as  have  invaded  Eu- 
rope any  time  since  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  and  carry 
the  national  Goddem  into  every  city  of  the  Continent. 
The  congregation  of  hat-boxes,  and  Bramah  desks,  and 
dressing-cases    was    prodigious.      There    were    jaunty 

250 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        251 

j-^oung  Cambridge-men  travelling  with  their  tutor,  and 
going  for  a  reading  excursion  to  Nonnenwerth  or  Ko- 
nigswinter:  there  were  Irish  gentlemen  with  the  most 
dashing  whiskers  and  jewellery,  talking  about  horses 
incessantly,  and  prodigiously  polite  to  the  young  ladies 
on  board,  whom,  on  the  contrary,  the  Cambridge  lads 
and  their  pale-faced  tutor  avoided  with  maiden  coyness : 
there  were  old  Pall  INIall  loungers  bound  for  Ems  and 
Wiesbaden,  and  a  course  of  waters  to  clear  off  the  din- 
ners of  the  season,  and  a  little  roulette  and  trente-et- 
quarante  to  keep  the  excitement  going:  there  was  old 
Methuselah,  who  had  married  his  young  wife,  with  Cap- 
tain Papillon  of  the  Guards  holding  her  parasol  and 
guide-books:  there  was  young  May  who  was  carrying 
off  his  bride  on  a  pleasure  tour  (^Irs.  Winter  that  was, 
and  who  had  been  at  school  with  May's  grandmother)  ; 
there  was  Sir  John  and  my  Lady  with  a  dozen  children, 
and  corresponding  nursemaids;  and  the  great  grandee 
Bareacres  family  that  sate  by  themselves  near  the  wheel, 
stared  at  everybody,  and  spoke  to  no  one.  Their  car- 
riages, emblazoned  with  coronets,  and  heaped  with  shin- 
ing imperials,  were  on  the  foredeck;  locked  in  with  a 
dozen  more  such  vehicles :  it  was  difficult  to  pass  in  and 
out  amongst  them:  and  the  poor  inmates  of  the  fore- 
cabin  had  scarcely  any  space  for  locomotion.  These  con- 
sisted of  a  few  magnificently  attired  gentlemen  from 
Houndsditch,  who  l)r()ught  their  own  provisions,  and 
could  have  bought  half  the  gay  people  in  the  grand 
saloon ;  a  few  honest  fellows  with  moustachios  and  port- 
folios, who  set  to  sketching  before  they  had  been  half-an- 
hour  on  ])oar(l;  one  or  two  French  fcmmcs  de  cJiamhre 
who  l)egan  to  ])e  dreadfully  ill  by  the  time  the  boat  liad 
passed  Greenwich ;   a  groom  or  two  who  lounged  in  the 


252  VANITY  FAIR 

neighbourhood  of  the  horse-boxes  under  their  charge, 
or  leaned  over  the  side  by  the  paddle-wheels,  and  talked 
about  who  was  good  for  the  Leger,  and  what  they  stood 
to  win  or  lose  for  the  Goodwood  cup. 

All  the  couriers,  when  they  had  done  plunging  about 
the  ship,  and  had  settled  their  various  masters  in  the 
cabins  or  on  the  deck,  congregated  together  and  began 
to  chatter  and  smoke;  the  Hebrew  gentlemen  joining 
them  and  looking  at  the  carriages.  There  was  Sir  John's 
great  carriage  that  would  hold  thirteen  people ;  my  Lord 
Methuselah's  carriage,  my  Lord  Bareacres'  chariot, 
britska,  and  fourgon,  that  anybody  might  pay  for  who 
liked.  It  was  a  wonder  how  my  Lord  got  the  ready 
money  to  pay  for  the  expenses  of  the  journey.  The  He- 
brew gentlemen  knew  how  he  got  it.  They  knew  what 
money  his  Lordship  had  in  his  pocket  at  that  instant,  and 
what  interest  he  paid  for  it,  and  who  gave  it  him.  Fi- 
nally there  was  a  very  neat,  handsome  travelling  car- 
riage, about  which  the  gentlemen  speculated. 

"  A  qui  cette  voiture  la?  "  said  one  gentleman-courier 
with  a  large  morocco  money-bag  and  ear-rings,  to  an- 
other with  ear-rings  and  a  large  morocco  money-bag. 

"  C'est  a  Kirsch  je  hense — je  Vai  vu  toute  a  Vheure— 
qui  brenoit  des  sangviches  dans  la  voitureT  said  the 
courier  in  a  fine  German  French. 

Kirsch  emerging  presently  from  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  hold,  where  he  had  been  bellowing  instructions  inter- 
mingled with  polyglot  oaths  to  the  ship's  men  engaged 
in  secreting  the  passengers'  luggage,  came  to  give  an 
account  of  himself  to  his  brother  interpreters.  He  in- 
formed them  that  the  carriage  belonged  to  a  Nabob  from 
Calcutta  and  Jamaica,  enormously  rich,  and  with  whom 
he  M' as  engaged  to  travel ;   and  at  this  moment  a  young 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO 


253 


gentleman  who  had  been  warned  off  the  bridge  between 
the  paddle-boxes,  and  who  had  dropped  thence  on  to 
the  roof  of  Lord  ^Methuselah's  carriage,  from  which  he 


made  his  way  over  other  carriages  and  imperials  until 
he  had  clambered  on  to  his  own,  descended  thence  and 
through  the  window  into  the  body  of  the  carriage  to  tlie 
apj)laijse  of  the  couriers  looking  on, 

"  Nous   allons  avoir  line  belle   traversee,   IMonsieur 


254  VANITY  FAIR 

George,"  said  the  courier  with  a  grin,  as  he  Hfted  his 
gold-laced  cap. 

"  D —  your  French,"  said  the  young  gentleman, 
"  where's  the  biscuits,  ay?"  Whereupon,  Kirsch  an- 
swered him  in  the  English  language  or  in  such  an  imita- 
tion of  it  as  he  could  command, — for  though  he  w^as  fa- 
miliar with  all  languages,  JNIr.  Kirsch  Avas  not  acquainted 
with  a  single  one,  and  spoke  all  with  indifferent  volu- 
bility and  incorrectness. 

The  imperious  young  gentleman  who  gobbled  the 
biscuits  (and  indeed  it  was  time  to  refresh  himself, 
for  he  had  breakfasted  at  Richmond  full  three  hours  be- 
fore), was  our  young  friend  George  Osborne.  Uncle 
Jos  and  his  mamma  were  on  the  quarter-deck  with  a 
gentleman  of  whom  they  used  to  see  a  good  deal,  and 
the  four  were  about  to  make  a  summer  tour. 

Jos  was  seated  at  that  moment  on  deck  under  the  awn- 
ing, and  pretty  nearly  opposite  to  the  Earl  of  Bareacres 
and  his  family,  whose  proceedings  absorbed  the  Ben- 
galee almost  entirely.  Both  the  noble  couple  looked 
rather  younger  than  in  the  eventful  year  '15,  when  Jos 
remembered  to  have  seen  them  at  Brussels  (indeed  he 
always  gave  out  in  India  that  he  was  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  them).  Lady  Bareacres'  hair,  which  was 
then  dark,  was  now  a  beautiful  golden  auburn,  whereas 
Lord  Bareacres'  whiskers,  formerly  red,  were  at  present 
of  a  rich  black  with  purple  and  green  reflections  in  the 
light.  But  changed  as  they  were,  the  movements  of  the 
noble  pair  occupied  Jos's  mind  entirely.  The  presence 
of  a  lord  fascinated  him,  and  he  could  look  at  nothing- 
else. 

"  Those  j)eople  seem  to  interest  you  a  good  deal,"  said 
Dobbin,    laughing    and    watching    him.      Amelia    too 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO        255 

lauo-hed.  She  was  in  a  straw  bonnet  with  black  ribbons, 
and  otherwise  dressed  in  mourning:  but  the  httle  bustle 
and  holiday  of  the  journey  pleased  and  excited  her,  and 
she  looked  particularly  happy. 

"What  a  heavenly  day!"  Emmy  said,  and  added, 
with  great  originality,  "  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  cahn  pas- 
sage." 

Jos  waved  his  hand,  scornfully  glancing  at  the  same 
time  under  his  eyelids  at  the  great  folks  opposite.  "  If 
you  had  made  the  voyages  we  have,"  he  said,  "  you 
wouldn't  much  care  about  the  weather."  But  neverthe- 
less, traveller  as  he  was,  he  passed  the  night  direfully 
sick  in  his  carriage,  where  his  courier  tended  him  with 
brandy-and-water  and  every  luxury. 

In  due  time  this  happy  party  landed  at  the  quays  of 
Rotterdam,  whence  they  were  transported  by  another 
steamer  to  the  city  of  Cologne.  Here  the  carriage  and 
the  family  took  to  the  shore,  and  Jos  was  not  a  little 
gratified  to  see  his  arrival  announced  in  the  Cologne 
newspapers  as  '  Herr  Graf  Lord  von  Sedley  nebst  Be- 
gleitung  aus  London.'  He  had  his  court  dress  with  him : 
he  had  insisted  that  Dobbin  should  bring  his  regimental 
paraphernalia:  he  announced  that  it  was  his  intention 
to  be  presented  at  some  foreign  courts,  and  pay  his  re- 
spects to  the  Sovereigns  of  the  countries  which  he  hon- 
oured with  a  visit. 

Wherever  the  party  stopped,  and  an  opportunity  was 
offered,  IVIr.  Jos  left  liis  own  card  and  the  jMajor's  upon 
"  Our  Minister."  It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  he 
could  be  restrained  from  ])utting  on  his  cocked  hat  and 
tiglits  to  wait  upon  the  English  consul  at  the  Free  City 
of  Judenstadt,  when  that  hos])ita})le  functionary  asked 
our  travellers  to  dinner.    He  kept  a  journal  of  his  voy- 


256  VANITY  FAIR 

age,  and  noted  elaborately  the  defects  or  excellences  of 
the  various  inns  at  which  he  put  up,  and  of  the  wines 
and  dishes  of  which  he  partook. 

As  for  Emmy,  she  was  very  happy  and  pleased.  Dob- 
bin used  to  carry  about  for  her  her  stool  and  sketch-book, 
and  admired  the  drawings  of  the  good-natured  little 
artist,  as  they  never  had  been  admired  before.  She  sate 
upon  steamers'  decks  and  drew  crags  and  castles,  or  she 
mounted  upon  donkeys  and  ascended  to  ancient  robber- 
towers,  attended  by  her  two  aides-de-camp,  Georgy  and 
Dobbin.  She  laughed,  and  the  JNIajor  did  too,  at  his 
droll  figure  on  donkey-back,  with  his  long  legs  touching 
the  ground.  He  was  the  interpreter  for  the  party,  hav- 
ing a  good  military  knowledge  of  the  German  language ; 
and  he  and  the  delighted  George  fought  the  campaigns 
of  the  Rhine  and  the  Palatinate.  In  the  course  of  a 
few  weeks,  and  by  assiduously  conversing  with  Herr 
Kirsch  on  the  box  of  the  carriage,  Georgy  made  pro- 
digious advance  in  the  knowledge  of  High  Dutch,  and 
could  talk  to  hotel  waiters  and  postilions  in  a  way  that 
charmed  his  mother  and  amused  his  guardian. 

]Mr.  Jos  did  not  much  engage  in  the  afternoon  excur- 
sions of  his  fellow-travellers.  He  slept  a  good  deal  after 
dinner,  or  basked  in  the  arbours  of  the  pleasant  inn- 
gardens.  Pleasant  Rhine  gardens!  Fair  scenes  of 
peace  and  sunshine — noble  purple  mountains,  w^hose 
crests  are  reflected  in  the  magnificent  stream — who  has 
ever  seen  vou,  that  has  not  a  grateful  memorv  of  those 
scenes  of  friendly  repose  and  beauty?  To  lay  down  the 
pen,  and  even  to  think  of  that  beautiful  Rhineland  makes 
one  happy.  At  this  time  of  summer  evening,  the  cow^s 
are  trooping  down  from  the  hills,  lowing  and  with  their 
bells  tinkling,  to  the  old  town,  with  its  old  moats,  and 


r 


^ 


J  !^i  lit  ■■>^A.?-'-'^-«v  ,4-^ 


!\    i\ 


«i 1 1'^"^  ill 

ill  li."r 


>^-. 


A  fine  Summer  Evening 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        257 

gates,  and  spires,  and  chestnut-trees,  with  long  blue 
shadows  stretching  over  the  grass ;  the  sky  and  the  river 
below  flame  in  crimson  and  gold;  and  the  moon  is  al- 
ready out,  looking  pale  towards  the  sunset.  The  sun 
sinks  behind  the  great  castle-crested  mountains,  the  night 
falls  suddenly,  the  river  grows  darker  and  darker,  lights 
quiver  in  it  from  the  windows  in  the  old  ramparts,  and 
twinkle  j)eacefully  in  the  villages  under  the  hills  on  the 
opposite  shore. 

So  Jos  used  to  go  to  sleep  a  good  deal  with  his  ban- 
danna over  his  face  and  be  very  comfortable,  and  read 
all  the  English  news,  and  every  word  of  Galignani's 
admirable  newspaper  (may  the  blessings  of  all  English- 
men who  have  ever  been  abroad  rest  on  the  founders 
and  proprietors  of  that  piratical  print!),  and  whether  he 
woke  or  slept  his  friends  did  not  very  much  miss  him. 
Yes,  they  were  very  happy.  They  went  to  the  Opera 
often  of  evenings — to  those  snug,  unassuming,  dear  old 
operas  in  the  German  towns,  where  the  noblesse  sits  and 
cries,  and  knits  stockings  on  the  one  side,  over  against 
the  bourgeoisie  on  the  other ;  and  His  Transparency  the 
Duke  and  his  Transparent  family,  all  very  fat  and  good- 
natured,  come  and  occupy  the  great  box  in  the  middle ; 
and  the  pit  is  full  of  the  most  elegant  slim-waisted  of- 
ficers with  straw-coloured  moustachios,  and  twopence 
a-day  on  full  pay.  Here  it  was  that  Emmy  found  her 
delight,  and  was  introduced  for  the  first  time  to  the 
wonders  of  INIozart  and  Cimarosa.  The  Major's  musi- 
cal taste  has  been  before  alhided  to,  and  his  perform- 
ances on  the  flute  commended.  But  perhai)s  the  chief 
pleasure  he  had  in  tliese  operas  was  in  watching  Emmy's 
rapture  wliile  listening  to  them.  A  new  world  of  love 
and  beauty  broke  upon  lier  wlien  she  was  introduced  to 


258  VANITY  FAIR 

those  divine  compositions :  this  lady  had  the  keenest  and 
finest  sensibility,  and  how  could  she  be  indifferent  when 
she  heard  Mozart?  The  tender  parts  of  "  Don  Juan  " 
awakened  in  her  raptures  so  exquisite  that  she  would  ask 
herself  when  she  went  to  say  her  prayers  of  a  night, 
whether  it  was  not  wicked  to  feel  so  much  delight  as  that 
with  which  "  Vedrai  Carino  "  and  "  Batti  Batti  "  filled 
her  gentle  little  bosom?  But  the  Major,  whom  she  con- 
sulted upon  this  head,  as  her  theological  adviser  (and 
who  himself  had  a  pious  and  reverent  soul),  said  that 
for  his  part,  every  beauty  of  art  or  nature  made  him 
thankful  as  well  as  happy;  and  that  the  pleasure  to  be 
had  in  listening  to  fine  music,  as  in  looking  at  the  stars 
in  the  sky,  or  at  a  beautiful  landscape  or  picture,  was  a 
benefit  for  which  we  might  thank  Heaven  as  sincerely 
as  for  any  other  worldly  blessing.  And  in  reply  to  some 
faint  objections  of  INIrs.  Amelia's  (taken  from  certain 
theological  works  like  the  "  Washerwoman  of  Finchley 
Common  "  and  others  of  that  school,  with  which  ]Mrs. 
Osborne  had  been  furnished  during  her  life  at  Bromp- 
ton)  he  told  her  an  Eastern  fable  of  the  Owl  who 
thought  that  the  sunshine  was  unbearable  for  the  eyes, 
and  that  the  Nightingale  was  a  most  overrated  bird. 
"  It  is  one's  nature  to  sing  and  the  others  to  hoot,"  he 
said,  laughing,  "and  with  such  a  sweet  voice  as  you  have 
yourself,  you  must  belong  to  the  Bulbul  faction." 

I  like  to  dwell  upon  this  period  of  her  life,  and  to 
think  that  she  was  cheerful  and  happy.  You  see  she  has 
not  had  too  much  of  that  sort  of  existence  as  vet,  and 
has  not  fallen  in  the  way  of  means  to  educate  her  tastes 
or  her  intelligence.  She  has  been  domineered  over  hith- 
erto by  vulgar  intellects.  It  is  the  lot  of  many  a  woman. 
And  as  every  one  of  the  dear  sex  is  the  rival  of  the  rest 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO       259 

of  her  kind,  timidity  passes  for  folly  in  their  charitable 
judgments;  and  gentleness  for  dulness;  and  silence — 
which  is  but  timid  denial  of  the  unwelcome  assertion  of 
ruling  folks,  and  tacit  protestantism — above  all,  finds  no 
mercy  at  the  hands  of  the  female  Inquisition.  Thus, 
my  dear  and  civilised  reader,  if  you  and  I  were  to  find 
ourselves  this  evening  in  a  societj'-  of  greengrocers,  let 
us  say,  it  is  probable  that  our  conversation  would  not  be 
brilliant;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  a  greengrocer  should 
find  himself  at  your  refined  and  polite  tea-table,  where 
everj^body  was  saying  witty  things,  and  everybody  of 
fashion  and  repute  tearing  her  friends  to  pieces  in  the 
most  delightful  manner,  it  is  possible  that  the  stranger 
would  not  be  very  talkative,  and  by  no  means  intei-esting 
or  interested. 

And  it  must  be  remembered,  that  this  poor  lady  had 
never  met  a  gentleman  in  her  life  until  this  present  mo- 
ment. Perhaps  these  are  rarer  personages  than  some  of 
us  think  for.  Which  of  us  can  point  out  many  such 
in  his  circle — men  whose  aims  are  generous,  whose  truth 
is  constant,  and  not  only  constant  in  its  kind  but  ele- 
vated in  its  degree;  whose  want  of  meanness  makes 
them  simple:  who  can  look  the  world  honestly  in  the 
face  with  an  equal  manly  sympathy  for  the  great  and 
the  small?  We  all  know  a  hundred  whose  coats  are  very 
well  made,  and  a  score  who  have  excellent  manners,  and 
one  or  two  happy  beings  who  are  what  they  call,  in  the 
inner  circles,  and  have  shot  into  the  very  centre  and 
Ijull's  eye  of  the  fashion;  but  of  gentlemen  how  many? 
TiCt  us  take  a  little  scraj)  of  paper  and  each  make  out 
liis  list. 

My  friend  the  ^lajor  I  Avrite,  without  any  doubt,  in 
mine.    He  had  very  long  legs,  a  yellow  face,  and  a  slight 


260  VANITY  FAIR 

lisp,  which  at  first  was  rather  ridiculous.  But  his 
thoughts  were  just,  his  brains  were  fairly  good,  his  life 
was  honest  and  pure,  and  his  heart  warm  and  humble. 
He  certainly  had  very  large  hands  and  feet,  which  the 
two  George  Osbornes  used  to  caricature  and  laugh  at; 
and  their  jeers  and  laughter  perhaps  led  poor  little 
Emmy  astray  as  to  his  worth.  But  have  we  not  all  been 
misled  about  our  heroes,  and  changed  our  opinions  a 
hundred  times?  Emmy,  in  this  happy  time,  found  that 
hers  underwent  a  very  great  change  in  respect  of  the 
merits  of  the  Major. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  happiest  time  of  both  their  lives 
indeed,  if  they  did  but  know  it — and  who  does?  Which 
of  us  can  point  out  and  say  that  was  the  culmination — 
that  was  the  summit  of  human  joy?  But  at  all  events, 
this  couple  were  very  decently  contented,  and  enjoyed 
as  pleasant  a  summer  tour  as  any  pair  that  left  England 
that  year.  Georgy  was  always  present  at  the  play,  but 
it  was  the  Major  who  put  Emmy's  shawl  on  after  the 
entertainment;  and  in  the  walks  and  excursions  the 
young  lad  would  be  on  a-head,  and  up  a  tower-stair  or 
a  tree,  whilst  the  soberer  couple  were  below,  the  Major 
smoking  his  cigar  with  great  placidity  and  constancy, 
whilst  Emmv  sketched  the  site  or  the  ruin.  It  was  on 
this  very  tour  that  I,  the  present  writer  of  a  history  of 
which  every  word  is  true,  had  the  pleasure  to  see  them 
first,  and  to  make  their  acquaintance. 

It  was  at  the  little  comfortable  Ducal  town  of  Pum- 
pernickel (that  very  place  where  Sir  Pitt  Crawley  had 
been  so  distinguished  as  an  attache;  but  that  was  in  early 
early  days,  and  before  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Auster- 
litz  sent  all  the  English  diplomatists  in  Germany  to  the 


A  XOVEL  AVITHOUT  A  HERO       201 

right  about)  that  1  first  saw  Colonel  Dobbin  and  his 
party.  They  had  arrived  witii  the  carriage  and  courier 
at  the  Erbprinz  Hotel,  the  best  of  the  town,  and  the 
whole  party  dined  at  the  table  d'hote.  Everybody  re- 
marked the  majesty  of  Jos,  and  the  knowing  way  in 
which  he  sipped,  or  rather  sucked,  the  Johannisberger, 
which  he  ordered  for  dinner.  The  little  boy,  too,  we 
observed,  had  a  famous  appetite,  and  consumed  schin- 
ken,  and  braten,  and  kartofFeln,  and  cranberry  jam,  and 
salad,  and  ^^udding,  and  roast  fowls,  and  sweetmeats, 
with  a  gallantry  that  did  honour  to  his  nation.  After 
about  fifteen  dishes,  he  concluded  the  repast  with  des- 
sert, some  of  M'hich  he  even  carried  out  of  doors;  for 
some  young  gentlemen  at  table,  amused  with  his  cool- 
ness and  gallant  free  and  easy  manner,  induced  him  to 
pocket  a  handful  of  macaroons,  which  he  discussed  on 
his  way  to  the  theatre,  whither  everybody  went  in  the 
cheery  social  little  German  place.  The  lady  in  black, 
the  boy's  mamma,  laughed  and  blushed,  and  looked  ex- 
ceedingly pleased  and  shy  as  the  dinner  went  on,  and 
at  the  various  feats  and  instances  of  espieglerie  on  the 
part  of  her  son.  The  Colonel — for  so  he  became  very 
soon  afterwards — I  remember  joked  the  boy  with  a 
great  deal  of  grave  fun,  pointing  out  dishes  which  he 
Jiadnt  tried,  and  entreating  him  not  to  baulk  his  appe- 
tite, but  to  have  a  second  supply  of  this  or  that. 

It  was  what  they  call  a  gast-rolle  night  at  the  Royal 
Grand  Ducal  Pumpernickelisch  Ilof, — or  Court  the- 
atre; and  ^ladame  Schroeder  Devrient,  then  in  the 
))loom  of  her  beauty  and  genius,  performed  the  part  of 
the  lieroine  in  the  wonderful  opera  of  "  FidcHo."  From 
our  ])laces  in  the  stalls  we  could  see  our  four  friends  of 
the  table  d'hote,  in  the  logc  which  Schwendler  of  the  Erb- 


262  VANITY   FAIR 

prinz  kept  for  his  best  guests :  and  I  could  not  help  re- 
marking the  effect  Avhich  the  magnificent  actress  and 
music  produced  upon  Mrs.  Osborne,  for  so  we  heard  the 
stout  gentleman  in  the  moustachios  call  her.  During  the 
astonishing  Chorus  of  the  Prisoners,  over  which  the  de- 
lightful voice  of  the  actress  rose  and  soared  in  the  most 
ravishing  harmony,  the  English  lady's  face  wore  such 
an  expression  of  wonder  and  delight  that  it  struck  even 
little  Fipps,  the  blase  attache,  who  drawled  out,  as  he 
fixed  his  glass  upon  her,  "  Gayd,  it  really  does  one  good 
to  see  a  woman  caypable  of  that  stayt  of  excajiiement." 
And  in  the  Prison  Scene  where  Fidelio,  rushing  to  her 
husband,  cries,  "  Nichts  nichts  mein  Florestan,"  she 
fairly  lost  herself  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hand- 
kerchief. Every  woman  in  the  house  was  snivelling  at 
the  time:  but  I  suppose  it  was  because  it  was  predes- 
tined that  I  was  to  write  this  particular  lady's  memoirs 
that  I  remarked  her. 

The  next  day  they  gave  another  piece  of  Beethoven, 
"  Die  Schlacht  bei  Yittoria."  jNIalbrook  is  introduced 
at  the  beginning  of  the  performance,  as  indicative  of 
the  brisk  advance  of  the  French  Army.  Then  come 
drums,  trumpets,  thunders  of  artillery,  and  groans  of 
the  dying,  and  at  last  in  a  grand  triumphant  swell,  "  God 
save  the  King  "  is  performed. 

There  may  have  been  a  score  of  Englishmen  in  the 
house,  but  at  the  burst  of  that  beloved  and  well-known 
music,  everyone  of  them,  we  young  fellows  in  the  stalls, 
Sir  John  and  Lady  Bullminster  (who  had  taken  a  house 
at  Pumpernickel  for  the  education  of  their  nine  chil- 
dren), the  fat  gentleman  with  the  moustachios,  the  long 
INI  a  j  or  in  white  duck  trowsers,  and  the  lady  with  the  lit- 
tle boy  upon  whom  he  was  so  sweet:    even  Kirsch,  the 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT   A   HERO        263 

courier  in  the  gallery,  stood  bolt  upright  in  their  places, 
and  proclaimed  themselves  to  be  members  of  the  dear 
old  British  nation.  As  for  Tapeworm,  the  Charge  d Af- 
faires, he  rose  up  in  his  box  and  bowed  and  simpered, 
as  if  he  would  represent  the  whole  empire.  Tapeworm 
was  nephew  and  heir  of  old  ^Marshal  Tiptoff,  w^ho 
has  been  introduced  in  this  story  as  General  TiptoiF, 
just  before  Waterloo,  who  was  Colonel  of  the 
— th  regiment  in  which  ]Major  Dobbin  served,  and 
who  died  in  this  year  full  of  honours,  and  of  an  aspic 
of  plovers'  eggs;  when  the  regiment  was  graciously 
given  by  his  Majesty  to  Colonel  Sir  ^Michael  O'Dowd, 
K.C.B.,  who  had  commanded  it  in  many  glorious 
fields. 

Tapeworm  must  have  met  with  Colonel  Dobbin  at  the 
house  of  the  Colonel's  Colonel,  the  ]\Iarshal,  for  he  rec- 
ognised him  on  this  night  at  the  theatre;  and  with  the 
utmost  condescension,  his  ^Majesty's  minister  came  over 
from  his  own  box,  and  publicly  shook  hands  with  his 
new-found  friend. 

"  Look  at  that  infernal  sly-boots  of  a  Tapeworm," 
Fipps  whispered,  examining  his  chief  from  the  stalls. 
"  Wherever  there's  a  pretty  woman  he  always  twists 
himself  in."  And  I  wonder  what  were  diplomatists 
made  for  but  for  that? 

"  Have  I  the  honour  of  addressing  myself  to  Mrs. 
Dobbin?  "  asked  the  Secretarv,  w'ith  a  most  insinuating 
grin. 

Georgy  burst  out  laughing,  and  said,  "  By  Jove,  that 
is  a  good  'un." — Emmy  and  the  Major  bhislied:  we 
saw  them  from  the  stalls. 

"  This  lady  is  INTrs.  George  Osborne,"  said  the  Major, 
"  and  this  is  lier  brother,  Mr.  Sedley,  a  distinguished 


264 


VANITY  FAIR 


officer  of  the  Bengal  Civil  Service :   permit  me  to  intro- 
duce him  to  your  lordship." 

My  lord  nearly  sent  Jos  off  his  legs,  with  the  most 
fascinating  smile.    "  Are  you  going  to  stop  in  Pumper- 


nickel? "  he  said.  "  It  is  a  dull  j^lace:  but  we  want  some 
nice  people,  and  we  would  try  and  make  it  so  agreeable 
to  you.  Mr. — Ahum— Mrs.— Oho.  I  shall  do  myself 
the  honour  of  calling  upon  you  to-morrow  at  your  inn." 
—And  he  went  away  with  a  Parthian  grin  and  glance, 
which  he  thought  must  finish  Mrs.  Osborne  completely. 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO        265 

The  performance  over,  the  young  fellows  lounged 
about  the  lobbies,  and  we  saw  the  society  take  its  de- 
parture.  The  Duchess  Dowager  went  off  in  her  jingling 
old  coach,  attended  by  two  faithful  and  withered  old 
maids  of  honour,  and  a  little  snuffy  spindle-shanked 
gentleman  in  waiting,  in  a  brown  jasey  and  a  green  coat 
covered  with  orders — of  which  the  star  and  the  grand 
yellow  cordon  of  the  order  of  St.  INIichael  of  Pumper- 
nickel were  most  conspicuous.  The  drums  rolled,  the 
guards  saluted,  and  the  old  carriage  drove  away. 

Then  came  his  Transparency  the  Duke  and  Trans- 
parent family,  with  his  great  officers  of  state  and  house- 
hold. He  bowed  serenely  to  everybody.  And  amid  the 
saluting  of  the  guards,  and  the  flaring  of  the  torches  of 
the  running  footmen,  clad  in  scarlet,  the  Transparent 
carriages  drove  away  to  the  old  Ducal  Schloss,  with  its 
towers  and  pinnacles  standing  on  the  Schlossberg. 
Everybody  in  Pumpernickel  knew  everybody.  No 
sooner  was  a  foreigner  seen  there,  than  the  JNIinister  of 
Foreign  Affairs,  or  some  other  great  or  small  officer 
of  state,  went  round  to  the  Erbprinz,  and  found  out  the 
names  of  the  new  arrivals. 

We  watched  them,  too,  out  of  the  theatre.  Tape- 
worm had  just  walked  off,  enveloped  in  his  cloak,  with 
which  his  gigantic  chasseur  was  always  in  attendance, 
and  looking  as  much  as  possible  like  Don  Juan.  The 
Prime  ^Minister's  lady  had  just  squeezed  herself  into  her 
sedan,  and  her  daughter,  the  charming  Ida,  had  put  on 
her  calash  and  clogs :  when  the  English  party  came  out, 
the  boy  yawning  drearily,  the  ]Major  taking  great  pains 
in  keeping  the  shawl  over  ]\Irs.  Osborne's  head,  and  JNIr. 
Sedley  looking  grand,  with  a  criisli  opera-liat  on  one 
side  of  his  head,  and  his  hand  in  the  stomach  of  a  volu- 


266  VANITY  FAIR 

niinous  white  waistcoat.  We  took  off  our  hats  to  our 
acquaintances  of  the  table  d'hote,  and  the  lady,  in  return, 
presented  us  with  a  little  smile  and  a  curtsey,  for  which 
everybody  might  be  thankful. 

The  carriage  from  the  inn,  under  the  superintendence 
of  the  bustling  JNIr.  Kirsch,  was  in  waiting  to  convey  the 
party;  but  the  fat  man  said  he  would  walk,  and  smoke 
his  cigar  on  his  way  homewards ;  so  the  other  three,  with 
nods  and  smiles  to  us,  went  without  Mr.  Sedley;  Kirsch, 
Avith  the  cigar-case,  following  in  his  master's  wake. 

We  all  walked  together,  and  talked  to  the  stout  gen- 
tleman about  the  agremens  of  the  place.  It  was  very 
agreeable  for  the  English.  There  were  shooting-parties 
and  battues;  there  was  a  plenty  of  balls  and  entertain- 
ments at  the  hospitable  Court ;  the  society  was  generally 
good;   the  theatre  excellent,  and  the  living  cheap. 

"  And  our  JNIinister  seems  a  most  delightful  and  af- 
fable person,"  our  new  friend  said.  "  With  such  a 
representative,  and — and  a  good  medical  man,  I  can 
fancy  the  place  to  be  most  eligible.  Good  night,  gen- 
tlemen." And  Jos  creaked  up  the  stairs  to  bedward, 
followed  by  Kirsch  with  a  flambeau.  We  rather  hoped 
that  nice-looking  woman  would  be  induced  to  stay  some 
time  in  the  town. 


CHAPTER  LXIII 


IX  WHICH  WE  MEET  AX  OLD  ACQUAIXTAXCE 


UCH  polite  behaviour  as 
that  of  Lord  Tapeworm 
did  not  fail  to  have  the 
most  favourable  effect 
upon  Mr.  Sedley's  mind, 
and  the  very  next  morning, 
at  breakfast,  he  pronounced 
his  opinion  that  Pumper- 
nickel was  the  pleasantest 
little  place  of  any  which 
he  had  visited  on  their 
tour.  Jos's  motives  and 
artifices  were  not  very  dif- 
ficult of  comprehension : 
and  Dobbin  laughed  in  his 
sleeve,  like  a  hypocrite  as 
he  was,  when  he  found  by  the  knowing  air  of  the  Civil- 
ian and  the  off-hand  manner  in  which  the  latter  talked 
about  Tapeworm  Castle,  and  the  other  members  of  the 
family,  that  Jos  had  been  up  already  in  the  morning, 
consulting  his  travelling  Peerage.  Yes,  he  had  seen  the 
Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Bagwig,  his  lordship's 
father;  he  was  sure  he  had,  he  had  met  him  at — at  the 
Levee — didn't  Dol)  rcmem})cr?  and  when  the  l)i])l()ma- 
tist  called  on  the  party,  faitliful  to  his  promise,  Jos  re- 
ceived him  with  such  a  salute  and  honours  as  were  seldom 

26T 


268  VANITY  FAIR 

accorded  to  the  little  Envoy.  He  winked  at  Kirsch  on 
his  Excellency's  arrival,  and  that  emissary,  instructed 
beforehand,  went  out  and  superintended  an  entertain- 
ment of  cold  meats,  jellies,  and  other  delicacies,  brought 
in  upon  trays,  and  of  which  Mr.  Jos  absolutely  insisted 
that  his  noble  guest  should  partake. 

Tapeworm,  so  long  as  he  could  have  an  opportunity 
of  admiring  the  bright  eyes  of  Mrs.  Osborne  (whose 
freshness  of  complexion  bore  daylight  remarkably  well ) , 
was  not  ill  pleased  to  accept  any  invitation  to  stay  in  Mr. 
Sedley's  lodgings ;  he  put  one  or  two  dextrous  questions 
to  him  about  India  and  the  dancing-girls  there;  asked 
Amelia  about  that  beautiful  boy  who  had  been  with  her, 
and  complimented  the  astonished  little  woman  upon  the 
prodigious  sensation  ^vhich  she  had  made  in  the  house; 
and  tried  to  fascinate  Dobbin  by  talking  of  the  late  war, 
and  the  exploits  of  the  Pumpernickel  contingent  under 
the  command  of  the  Hereditary  Prince,  now  Duke  of 
Pumpernickel. 

Lord  Tapeworm  inherited  no  little  portion  of  the 
family  gallantry,  and  it  was  his  happy  belief,  that  al- 
most every  woman  upon  whom  he  himself  cast  friendly 
eyes,  was  in  love  with  him.  He  left  Emmy  under  the 
persuasion  that  she  was  slain  by  his  wit  and  attractions, 
and  went  home  to  his  lodgings  to  write  a  pretty  little 
note  to  her.  She  was  not  fascinated;  only  puzzled  by 
his  grinning,  his  simpering,  his  scented  cambric  hand- 
kerchief, and  his  high-heeled  lacquered  boots.  She  did 
not  understand  one  half  the  compliments  which  he  paid ; 
she  had  never,  in  her  small  experience  of  mankind,  met 
a  professional  ladies'  man  as  yet,  and  looked  upon  my 
lord  as  something  curious  rather  than  pleasant;  and  if 
she  did  not  admire,  certainly  wondered  at  him.    Jos,  on 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT  A  HERO        269 

the  contrary,  was  delighted.  "  How  very  affable  his 
Lordship  is,"  he  said;  "  how  very  kind  of  his  Lordship 
to  say  he  would  send  his  medical  man !  Kirsch,  you  will 
carrv  our  cards  to  the  Count  de  Schliisselback  directly: 
the  ]Major  and  I  will  have  the  greatest  pleasure  in  pay- 
ing our  respects  at  Court  as  soon  as  possible.  Put  out 
mj^  uniform,  Kirsch, — both  our  uniforms.  It  is  a  mark 
of  politeness  which  every  English  gentleman  ought  to 
show  to  the  countries  which  he  visits,  to  pay  his  respects 
to  the  sovereigns  of  those  countries  as  to  the  representa- 
tives of  his  own." 

AVhen  Tapeworm's  doctor  came,  Doctor  von  Glauber, 
Body  Physician  to  H.S.H.  the  Duke,  he  sj)eedily  con- 
vinced Jos  that  the  Pumpernickel  mineral  springs  and 
the  Doctor's  particular  treatment  would  infallibly  re- 
store the  Bengalee  to  youth  and  slimness.  "  Dere  came 
here  last  year,"  he  said,  "  Sheneral  Bulkeley,  an  English 
Sheneral,  tvice  so  pic  as  you,  Sir.  I  sent  him  back  qvite 
tin  after  tree  months,  and  he  danced  vid  Baroness 
Glauber  at  the  end  of  two." 

Jos's  mind  was  made  up,  the  springs,  the  Doctor,  the 
Court,  and  the  Charge  d'AfFaires  convinced  him,  and  he 
proposed  to  spend  the  autumn  in  these  delightful  quar- 
ters.— And  punctual  to  his  word,  on  the  next  day  the 
Charge  d' Affaires  presented  Jos  and  the  Major  to 
Victor  Aurelius  XVII. ,  being  conducted  to  their  audi- 
ence with  that  sovereign  by  the  Count  de  Schliisselback, 
iSIarshal  of  the  Court. 

They  were  sti-aightway  invited  to  dinner  at  Court,  and 
their  intention  of  staying  in  the  town  being  announced, 
the  politest  ladies  of  the  whole  town  instantly  called 
u])on  ^Irs.  Osborne;  and  as  not  one  of  these,  however 
poor  they  might  })e,  was  under  tlie  rank  of  a  Baroness, 


270  VAXITY  FAIR 

Jos's  delight  was  beyond  expression.  He  wrote  off  to 
Chutney  at  the  Club  to  say  that  the  Seryice  was  highly 
appreciated  in  Germany,  that  he  was  going  to  show  his 
friend,  the  Count  de  Schliisselback,  how  to  stick  a  pig- 
in  the  Indian  fashion,  and  that  his  august  friends,  the 
Duke  and  Duchess,  were  eyerything  that  was  kind  and 
ciyil. 

Emmy,  too,  was  presented  to  the  august  family,  and 
as  mourning  is  not  admitted  in  Court  on  certain  days, 
she  appeared  in  a  pink  crape  dress,  with  a  diamond  or- 
nament in  the  corsage,  presented  to  her  by  her  brother, 
and  she  looked  so  pretty  in  this  costume  that  the  Duke 
and  Court  (putting  out  of  the  question  the  JNIajor,  who 
had  scarcely  eyer  seen  her  before  in  an  eyening  dress, 
and  yowed  that  she  did  not  look  fiye-and-twenty)  all 
admired  her  excessiyely. 

In  this  dress  she  walked  a  Polonaise  with  JNIajor  Dob- 
bin at  a  Court-ball,  in  which  easy  dance  JNIr.  Jos  had  the 
honour  of  leading  out  the  Countess  of  Schliisselback,  an 
old  lady  with  a  hump  back,  but  with  sixteen  good  quar- 
ters of  nobility,  and  related  to  half  the  royal  houses  of 
Germany. 

ft' 

Pumpernickel  stands  in  the  midst  of  a  happy  yalley, 
through  which  sparkles — to  mingle  with  the  Rhine  some- 
where, but  I  haye  not  the  map  at  hand  to  say  exactly 
at  what  point — the  fertilising  stream  of  the  Pump.  In 
some  places  the  riyer  is  big  enough  to  support  a  ferry- 
boat, in  others  to  turn  a  mill;  in  Pumpernickel  itself, 
the  last  Transparency  but  three,  the  great  and  renowned 
Victor  Aurelius  XIV.,  built  a  magnificent  bridge,  on 
which  his  own  statue  rises,  surrounded  by  water-nymphs 
and  emblems  of  yictory,  peace,  and  plenty;  he  has  his 
foot  on  the  neck  of  a  prostrate  Turk— history  says  he 


Jos  performs  a  Polonaise 


II 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        271 

engaged  and  ran  a  Janissary  through  the  body  at  the 
rehef  of  Vienna  by  Sobieski, — but,  quite  undisturbed  by 
the  agonies  of  that  prostrate  INIahometan,  who  writhes  at 
his  feet  in  the  most  ghastly  manner,  the  Prince  smiles 
blandly,  and  points  with  his  truncheon  in  the  direction 
of  the  Aurelius  Platz,  where  he  began  to  erect  a  new 
palace  that  would  have  been  the  wonder  of  his  age,  had 
the  great-souled  Prince  but  had  funds  to  complete  it. 
But  the  completion  of  Monplaisir  (Monhlaisir  the  honest 
German  folks  call  it)  was  stopped  for  lack  of  ready 
money,  and  it  and  its  park  and  garden  are  now  in  rather 
a  faded  condition,  and  not  more  than  ten  times  big 
enough  to  accommodate  the  Court  of  the  reigning  Sov- 
ereign. 

The  gardens  were  arranged  to  emulate  those  of  Ver- 
sailles, and  amidst  the  terraces  and  groves  there  are  some 
huge  allegorical  water-works  still,  which  spout  and 
froth  stupendously  upon  fete-days,  and  frighten  one 
with  their  enormous  aquatic  insurrections.  There  is  the 
Trophonius'  cave  in  which,  by  some  artifice,  the  leaden 
Tritons  are  made  not  only  to  spout  water,  but  to  play 
the  most  dreadful  groans  out  of  their  lead  conchs — there 
is  the  Xymph-bath  and  the  Niagara  cataract,  which  the 
people  of  the  neighbourhood  admire  beyond  expression, 
when  they  come  to  the  yearly  fair  at  the  opening  of  the 
Chamber,  or  to  the  fetes  with  which  tlie  happy  little  na- 
tion still  celebrates  the  birth-days  and  marriage-days  of 
its  princely  governors. 

Then  from  all  the  towns  of  the  Duchy  wliich  stretches 
for  nearly  ten  miles,  —  from  Bolkum,  whicli  lies  on  its 
western  frontier  bidding  defiance  to  Prussia,  from  Grog- 
witz  where  the  Prince  has  a  hunting-lodge,  and  where 
liis  dominions  are  separated  by  the  Pump  river  from 


272  VANITY  FAIR 

those  of  the  neighbouring  Prince  of  Potzenthal;  from 
all  the  little  villages,  which  besides  these  three  great 
cities,  dot  over  the  happy  Principality— from  the  farms 
and  the  mills  along  the  Pump,  come  troops  of  people  in 
red  petticoats  and  velvet  head-dresses,  or  with  three- 
cornered  hats  and  pipes  in  their  mouths,  who  flock  to 
the  Residenz  and  share  in  the  pleasures  of  the  fair  and 
the  festivities  there.  Then  the  theatre  is  open  for 
nothing,  then  the  waters  of  Monblaisir  begin  to  play 
(it  is  lucky  that  there  is  company  to  behold  them,  for 
one  would  be  afraid  to  see  them  alone )  — then  there  come 
mountebanks  and  riding  troops  (the  way  in  which  his 
Transparency  was  fascinated  by  one  of  the  horse-riders, 
is  well  known,  and  it  is  believed  that  La  Petite  Vivan- 
diere,  as  she  was  called,  was  a  spy  in  the  French  interest) , 
and  the  delighted  people  are  permitted  to  march  through 
room  after  room  of  the  Grand  Ducal  palace,  and  ad- 
mire the  slippery  floor,  the  rich  hangings,  and  the  spit- 
toons at  the  doors  of  all  the  innumerable  chambers. 
There  is  one  Pavilion  at  Monblaisir  which  Aurelius  Vic- 
tor XV.  had  arranged  —  a  great  Prince  but  too  fond  of 
pleasure — and  which  I  am  told  is  a  perfect  wonder  of 
licentious  elegance.  It  is  painted  w^ith  the  story  of 
Bacchus  and  Ariadne,  and  the  table  works  in  and  out 
of  the  room  by  means  of  a  windlass  so  that  the  company 
was  served  without  any  intervention  of  domestics.  But 
the  place  was  shut  up  by  Barbara,  Aurelius  XV. 's 
widow,  a  severe  and  devout  Princess  of  the  House  of 
Bolkum  and  Regent  of  the  Duchy  during  her  son's 
glorious  minority,  and  after  the  death  of  her  husband, 
cut  off  in  the  pride  of  his  pleasures. 

The  theatre  of  Pumpernickel  is  known  and  famous  in 
that  quarter  of  Germany.     It  languished  a  little  when 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A   HERO        273 

the  present  Duke  in  his  j'outh  insisted  upon  having  his 
own  operas  played  there,  and  it  is  said  one  day,  in  a  fury, 
from  his  place  in  the  orchestra,  when  he  attended  a  re- 
hearsal, broke  a  bassoon  on  the  head  of  the  Chapel  JNIas- 
ter,  who  was  conducting,  and  led  too  slow;  and  during 
which  time  the  Duchess  Sophia  wrote  domestic  comedies 
which  must  have  been  very  dreary  to  witness.  But  the 
Prince  executes  his  music  in  private  now,  and  the 
Duchess  only  gives  away  her  plays  to  the  foreigners  of 
distinction  who  visit  her  kind  little  Court. 

It  is  conducted  with  no  small  comfort  and  sj)lendour. 
When  there  are  balls,  though  there  may  be  four  hundred 
people  at  supper,  there  is  a  servant  in  scarlet  and  lace 
to  attend  upon  every  four,  and  every  one  is  served  on 
silver.  There  are  festivals  and  entertainments  going 
continually  on ;  and  the  Duke  has  his  chamberlains  and 
equerries,  and  the  Duchess  her  mistress  of  the  wardrobe 
and  ladies  of  honour  just  like  any  other  and  more  potent 
potentates. 

The  Constitution  is  or  was  a  moderate  despotism,  tem- 
pered by  a  Chamber  that  might  or  might  not  be  elected. 
I  never  certainly  could  hear  of  its  sitting  in  my  time  at 
Pumpernickel.  The  Prime  Minister  had  lodgings  in 
a  second  floor;  and  the  Foreign  Secretary  occupied  the 
comfortable  lodgings  over  Zwieback's  Conditorey.  The 
army  consisted  of  a  magnificent  band  that  also  did  duty 
on  the  stage,  where  it  was  quite  pleasant  to  see  the  worthy 
fellows  marching  in  Turkish  dresses  witli  rouge  on  and 
wooden  scimitars,  or  as  Roman  warriors  with  ophicleides 
and  trombones, — to  see  them  again,  I  say,  at  night,  after 
one  had  listened  to  them  all  the  morning  in  the  Aurelius 
I'latz,  where  they  y)erforme(l  o])posite  the  Cafe  where 
we  breakfasted.     Besides  the  band,  there  was  a  rich  and 


274  VANITY  FAIR 

numerous  staiF  of  officers,  and,  I  believe,  a  few  men. 
Besides  the  regular  sentries,  three  or  four  men,  habited 
as  hussars,  used  to  do  duty  at  the  Palace,  but  I  never  saw 
them  on  horseback,  and  au  fait,  what  was  the  use  of 
cavalry  in  a  time  of  profound  peace? — and  whither  the 
deuce  should  the  hussars  ride? 

Everybody — everybody  that  was  noble  of  course,  for 
as  for  the  Bourgeois  wt  could  not  quite  be  expected  to 
take  notice  of  them — visited  his  neighbour.  H.E.  Ma- 
dame de  Burst  received  once  a  week,  H.E.  Madame  de 
Schnurrbart  had  her  night — the  theatre  was  open  twice 
a  week,  the  Court  graciously  received  once,  so  that  a 
man's  life  might  in  fact  be  a  perfect  round  of  pleasure  in 
the  unpretending  Pimipernickel  waj^ 

That  there  were  feuds  in  the  place,  no  one  can  deny. 
Politics  ran  very  high  at  Pumpernickel,  and  parties 
were  very  bitter.  There  was  the  StrumpfF  faction  and 
the  Lederlung  party,  the  one  supported  by  our  Envoy 
and  the  other  by  the  French  Charge  d' Affaires,  M.  de 
Macabau.  Indeed  it  sufficed  for  our  Minister  to  stand 
up  for  Madame  StrumpfF,  who  was  clearly  the  greater 
singer  of  the  two,  and  had  three  more  notes  in  her  voice 
than  Madame  Lederlung  her  rival — it  sufficed,  I  say, 
for  our  JMinister  to  advance  any  opinion  to  have  it  in- 
stantly contradicted  by  the  French  diplomatist. 

Everybody  in  the  town  was  ranged  in  one  or  other  of 
these  factions.  The  Lederlung  was  a  prettyish  little 
creature  certainly,  and  her  voice  (what  there  was  of  it,) 
M^as  very  sweet,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  StrumpfF 
was  not  in  her  first  youth  and  beauty,  and  certainly  too 
stout;  when  she  came  on  in  the  last  scene  of  the  "  Son- 
nambula  "  for  instance  in  her  night-chemise  with  a  lamp 
in  her  hand,  and  had  to  go  out  of  the  window,  and  pass 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        275 

over  the  plank  of  the  mill,  it  was  all  she  could  do  to 
squeeze  out  of  the  window,  and  the  plank  used  to  bend 
and  creak  again  under  her  weight — but  how  she  poured 
out  the  finale  of  the  opera!  and  with  what  a  burst  of 
feeling  she  rushed  into  Elvino's  arms — almost  fit  to 
smother  him!  Whereas  the  little  Lederlung — but  a 
truce  to  this  gossip — the  fact  is,  that  these  two  women 
were  the  two  flags  of  the  French  and  the  English  party 
at  Pumpernickel,  and  the  society  was  divided  in  its  alle- 
giance to  those  two  great  nations. 

We  had  on  our  side  the  Home  Minister,  the  JNIaster 
of  the  Horse,  the  Duke's  Private  Secretary,  and  the 
Prince's  Tutor:  whereas  of  the  French  party  were  the 
Foreign  ^Minister,  the  Commander-in-chief's  Lady,  who 
had  served  under  Napoleon,  and  the  Hof-Marschall  and 
his  wife,  who  was  glad  enough  to  get  the  fashions  from 
Paris,  and  always  had  them  and  her  caps  by  M.  de  Ma- 
cabau's  courier.  The  Secretary  of  his  Chancery  was 
little  Grignac,  a  young  fellow,  as  malicious  as  Satan,  and 
who  made  caricatures  of  Tapeworm  in  all  the  albums 
of  the  place. 

Their  head-quarters  and  table  d'hote  were  established 
at  the  Pariser  Hof,  the  other  inn  of  the  town;  and 
though,  of  course,  these  gentlemen  were  obliged  to  be 
civil  in  public,  yet  they  cut  at  each  other  with  epigrams 
that  were  as  sharp  as  razors,  as  I  have  seen  a  couple  of 
wrestlers  in  Devonshire,  lashing  at  each  other's  shins, 
,and  never  showing  their  agony  upon  a  muscle  of  their 
faces.  Neither  Tapeworm  nor  Macabau  ever  sent  home 
a  despatch  to  his  government,  witliout  a  most  savage 
series  of  attacks  upon  his  rival.  For  instance,  on  our 
side  we  would  write,  "  Tlie  interests  of  Great  Britain  in 
this  place,  and  througliout  the  whole  of  Germany,  are 


276  VANITY  FAIR 

perilled  by  the  continuance  in  office  of  the  present  French 
envoy;  this  man  is  of  a  character  so  infamous  that  he 
will  stick  at  no  falsehood,  or  hesitate  at  no  crime,  to 
attain  his  ends.  He  poisons  the  mind  of  the  Court 
against  the  English  minister,  represents  the  conduct  of 
Great  Britain  in  the  most  odious  and  atrocious  light, 
and  is  unhappily  backed  by  a  minister  whose  ignorance 
and  necessities  are  as  notorious  as  his  influence  is  fatal." 
On  their  side  they  would  say,  "  M.  de  Tapeworm  con- 
tinues his  system  of  stupid  insular  arrogance  and  vulgar 
falsehood  against  the  greatest  nation  in  the  world.  Yes- 
terday he  was  heard  to  speak  lightly  of  Her  Royal 
Highness  Madame  the  Duchess  of  Berri:  on  a  former 
occasion  he  insulted  the  heroic  Duke  of  Angouleme,  and 
dared  to  insinuate  that  H.R.H.  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
was  conspiring  against  the  august  throne  of  the  lilies. 
His  gold  is  prodigated  in  every  direction  which  his  stupid 
menaces  fail  to  frighten.  By  one  and  the  other,  he  has 
won  over  creatures  of  the  Court  here, — and,  in  fine. 
Pumpernickel  will  not  be  quiet,  Germany  tranquil, 
France  respected,  or  Europe  content,  until  this  poison- 
ous viper  be  crushed  under  heel :  "  and  so  on.  When  one 
side  or  the  other  had  written  any  particularly  spicy  de- 
spatch, news  of  it  was  sure  to  slip  out. 

Before  the  winter  was  far  advanced  it  is  actually  on 
record  that  Emmy  took  a  night  and  received  company 
with  great  propriety  and  modesty.  She  had  a  French 
master  who  complimented  her  upon  the  purity  of  her 
accent  and  her  facility  of  learning;  the  fact  is  she  had 
learned  long  ago,  and  grounded  herself  subsequently 
in  the  grammar  so  as  to  be  able  to  teach  it  to  George ;  and 
Madame  Strumpff  came  to  give  her  lessons  in  singing, 
which  she  performed  so  well  and  w^th  such  a  true  voice 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO         277 

that  the  Major's  windows,  who  had  lodgings  opposite 
under  the  Prime  iMinister,  were  always  open  to  hear  the 
lesson.  Some  of  the  German  ladies,  who  are  very  senti- 
mental and  simple  in  their  tastes,  fell  in  love  with  her 
and  began  to  call  her  du  at  once.  These  are  trivial  de- 
tails, but  they  relate  to  happy  times.  The  Major  made 
himself  George's  tutor,  and  read  Caesar  and  mathematics 
with  him,  and  thev  had  a  German  master  and  rode  out 
of  evenings  by  the  side  of  Emmy's  carriage— she  was  al- 
w^ays  too  timid,  and  made  a  dreadful  outcry  at  the  slight- 
est disturbance  on  horseback.  So  she  drove  about  with 
one  of  her  dear  German  friends,  and  Jos  asleep  on  the 
back-seat  of  the  barouche. 

He  was  becoming  very  sweet  upon  the  Grafinn  Fanny 
de  Butterbrod,  a  very  gentle  tender-hearted  and  unas- 
suming young  creature,  a  Canoness  and  Countess  in  her 
own  right,  but  with  scarcely  ten  pounds  per  year  to 
her  fortune,  and  Fanny  for  her  part  declared  that  to  be 
Amelia's  sister  was  the  greatest  delight  that  heaven 
could  bestow  on  her,  and  Jos  might  have  put  a  Countess's 
shield  and  coronet  by  the  side  of  his  own  arms  on  his 
carriage  and  forks;  when — when  events  occurred,  and 
those  grand  fetes  given  upon  the  marriage  of  the  Hered- 
itary Prince  of  Pumpernickel  with  the  lovely  Princess 
Amelia  of  Humbourg-Schlippenschloppen  took  place. 

At  this  festival  the  magnificence  displayed  was  such  as 
had  not  been  known  in  the  little  German  ])lace  since  the 
days  of  the  prodigal  Victor  XIV.  All  the  neighbour- 
ing Princes,  Princesses,  and  Grandees  were  invited  to 
tbe  feast.  Beds  rose  to  half-a-crown  per  night  in  Pum- 
pernickel, and  the  army  was  exhausted  in  providing 
guards  of  honour  for  the  Highnesses,  Serenities,  and 
Excellencies,  who  arrived  from  all  quarters.     The  Prin- 


278  VANITY  FAIR 

cess  was  married  by  proxy,  at  her  father's  residence,  by 
the  Count  de  Schliisselback.  Snuff-boxes  were  given 
away  in  profusion  (as  we  learned  from  the  Court  jew- 
eller, who  sold  and  afterwards  bought  them  again ) ,  and 
bushels  of  the  Order  of  Saint  Michael  of  Pumpernickel 
were  sent  to  the  nobles  of  the  Court,  while  hampers  of 
the  cordons  and  decorations  of  the  Wheel  of  St.  Cath- 
erine of  Schlippenschloppen  were  brought  to  ours.  The 
French  envoy  got  both.  "  He  is  covered  with  ribbons 
like  a  prize  cart-horse,"  Tapeworm  said,  who  was  not 
allowed  by  the  rules  of  his  service  to  take  any  decora- 
tions: "  Let  him  have  the  cordons;  but  with  whom  is 
the  victory?  "  The  fact  is,  it  was  a  triumph  of  British 
diplomacy :  the  French  party  having  proposed  and  tried 
their  utmost  to  carry  a  marriage  with  a  Princess  of  the 
house  of  Potztausend-Donnerwetter,  whom,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  we  opposed. 

Everybody  was  asked  to  the  fetes  of  the  marriage. 
Garlands  and  triumphal  arches  were  hung  across  the 
road  to  welcome  the  young  bride.  The  great  Saint  Mi- 
chael's Fountain  ran  with  uncommonly  sour  wine,  while 
that  in  the  Artillery  Place  frothed  with  beer.  The  great 
waters  played;  and  poles  were  put  up  in  the  park  and 
gardens  for  the  happy  peasantry,  which  they  might  climb 
at  their  leisure,  carrying  off  watches,  silver  forks,  prize 
sausages  hung  with  pink  ribbon,  &c.,  at  the  top.  Georgy 
got  one,  wrenching  it  off,  having  swarmed  up  the  pole 
to  the  delight  of  the  spectators,  and  sliding  down  with 
the  rapidity  of  a  fall  of  water.  But  it  was  for  the 
glorj^'s  sake  merely.  The  boy  gave  the  sausage  to  a 
peasant,  who  had  very  nearly  seized  it,  and  stood  at 
the  foot  of  the  mast,  blubbering,  because  he  was  unsuc- 
cessful. 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO        279 

At  the  French  Chancellerie  they  had  six  more  lam- 
pions in  their  illumination  than  ours  had ;  but  our  trans- 
parency, which  represented  the  young  Couple  advanc- 
ing, and  Discord  flying  away,  with  the  most  ludicrous 
likeness  to  the  French  ambassador,  beat  the  French  pic- 
ture hollow;  and  I  have  no  doubt  got  Tapeworm  the 
advancement  and  the  Cross  of  the  Bath,  which  he  sub- 
sequently attained. 

Crowds  of  foreigners  arrived  for  the  fetes:  and  of 
English  of  course.  Besides  the  Court  balls,  public  balls 
were  given  at  the  Town  Hall  and  the  Redoute,  and 
in  the  former  place  there  was  a  room  for  trente-et-qua- 
rante  and  roulette  established,  for  the  w^ek  of  the  festiv- 
ities only,  and  by  one  of  the  great  German  companies 
from  Ems  or  Aix-la-Chapelle.  The  officers  or  inhabi- 
tants of  the  town  were  not  allowed  to  play  at  these 
games,  but  strangers,  peasants,  ladies  were  admitted,  and 
any  one  who  chose  to  lose  or  win  money. 

That  little  scapegrace  Georgy  Osborne  amongst 
others,  whose  pockets  were  always  full  of  dollars,  and 
whose  relations  were  aw^ay  at  the  grand  festival  of  the 
Court,  came  to  the  Stadthaus  ball  in  company  of  his 
uncle's  courier,  ]Mr.  Kirsch,  and  having  only  peeped  into 
a  play-room  at  Baden  Baden  when  he  hung  on  Dobbin's 
arm,  and  where,  of  course,  he  was  not  permitted  to  gam- 
ble, came  eagerly  to  this  part  of  the  entertainment,  and 
hankered  round  the  tables  where  the  croupiers  and  the 
punters  were  at  work.  Women  were  playing;  tliey 
were  masked,  some  of  them;  this  license  was  allowed  in 
these  wild  times  of  carnival. 

A  woman  witli  liglit  hair,  in  a  low  dress,  by  no  means 
so  fresh  as  it  had  ])ec'Fi,  and  willi  a  black  mask  on,  through 
the  eyelets  of  which  her  eyes  twinkled  strangely,  was 


280  VANITY  FAIR 

seated  at  one  of  the  roulette-tables  with  a  card  and  a  pin, 
and  a  couple  of  florins  before  her.  As  the  croupier 
called  out  the  colour  and  number,  she  pricked  on  the  card 
with  great  care  and  regularity,  and  only  ventured  her 
money  on  the  colours  after  the  red  or  black  had  come 
up  a  certain  nimiber  of  times.  It  was  strange  to  look 
at  her. 

But  in  spite  of  her  care  and  assiduity  she  guessed 
wrong,  and  the  last  two  florins  followed  each  other  under 
the  croupier's  rake,  as  he  cried  out  with  his  inexorable 
voice,  the  winning  colour  and  number.  She  gave  a  sigh, 
a  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  which  were  already  too  much 
out  of  her  gown,  and  dashing  the  pin  through  the  card 
on  to  the  table,  sat  thrumming  it  for  a  while.  Then  she 
looked  round  her,  and  saw  Georgy's  honest  face  staring 
at  the  scene.  The  little  scamp !  what  business  had  he  to 
be  there? 

When  she  saw  the  boy,  at  whose  face  she  looked  hard 
through  her  shining  eyes  and  mask,  she  said,  "  Monsieur 
nest  pas  joueur?  " 

'' Non,  Madame"  said  the  boy:  but  she  must  have 
known,  from  his  accent,  of  what  country  he  was,  for  she 
answered  him  with  a  slight  foreign  tone.  "  You  have 
nevare  played — will  you  do  me  a  littl'  favor?  " 

"  What  is  it? "  said  Georgy,  blushing  again.  Mr. 
Kirsch  was  at  work  for  his  part  at  the  rouge  et  noir,  and 
did  not  see  his  young  master. 

"  Play  this  for  me,  if  you  please,  put  it  on  any  num- 
ber, any  number."  And  she  took  from  her  bosom  a 
purse,  and  out  of  it  a  gold  piece,  the  only  coin  there,  and 
she  put  it  into  George's  hand.  The  boy  laughed,  and 
did  as  he  was  bid. 

The  number  came  up  sure  enough.  There  is  a  power 
that  arranges  that,  they  say,  for  beginners. 


xi  XOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO        281 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she,  pulHng  the  money  towards 
her;   "  thank  you.    What  is  your  name?  " 

"  ^ly  name's  Osborne,"  said  Georgy,  and  was  finger- 
ing in  his  own  pockets  for  dollars,  and  just  about  to 
make  a  trial,  when  the  Major,  in  his  uniform,  and  Jos, 
eii  Marquis,  from  the  Court  ball,  made  their  appearance. 
Other  people  finding  the  entertainment  stupid,  and  pre- 
ferring the  fun  at  the  Stadthaus,  had  quitted  the  Palace 
ball  earlier;  but  it  is  probable  the  Major  and  Jos  had 
gone  home  and  found  the  boy's  absence,  for  the  former 
instantly  went  up  to  him,  and  taking  him  by  the 
shoulder,  pulled  him  briskly  back  from  the  place  of 
temptation.  Then,  looking  round  the  room,  he  saw 
Kirsch  employed  as  we  have  said,  and  going  up  to  him, 
asked  how  he  dared  to  bring  Mr.  George  to  such  a  place. 

"  Laissez-moi  tranquille"  said  Mr.  Kirsch,  very  much 
excited  by  play  and  wine.  "  II  faut  s'amuser,  parhleu. 
Je  ne  suis  pas  au  service  de  Monsieur" 

Seeing  his  condition,  the  Major  did  not  choose  to  argue 
with  the  man ;  but  contented  himself  with  drawing  away 
George,  and  asking  Jos  if  he  would  come  away.  He 
was  standing  close  by  the  lady  in  the  mask,  who  was 
playing  with  pretty  good  luck  now;  and  looking  on 
much  interested  at  the  game. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  come,  Jos,"  the  Major  said, 
"  with  George  and  me?  " 

"  I'll  stop  and  go  home  with  that  rascal,  Kirsch,"  Jos 
said;  and  for  the  same  reason  of  modesty,  which  he 
thought  ought  to  be  preserved  before  the  boy,  Dobbin 
did  not  care  to  remonstrate  with  Jos,  but  left  him  and 
walked  home  with  (xeorgy. 

"  Did  you  i)lay  ^  "  asked  the  Major,  when  they  were 
out,  and  on  their  way  home. 

The  bov  said  "  No." 


282  VANITY  FAIR 

"  Give  me  your  word  of  honour  as  a  gentleman,  that 
you  never  will." 

"  Why?  "  said  the  boy:  "  It  seems  very  good  fun." 
And,  in  a  very  eloquent  and  impressive  manner,  the 
Major  showed  him  why  he  shouldn't,  and  would  have 
enforced  his  precepts  by  the  example  of  Georgy's  own 
father,  had  he  liked  to  say  anything  that  should  reflect 
on  the  other's  memory.  When  he  had  housed  him  he 
went  to  bed,  and  saw  his  light,  in  the  little  room  outside 
of  Amelia's,  presently  disappear.  Amelia's  followed 
half  an  hour  afterwards.  I  don't  know  what  made  the 
Major  note  it  so  accurately. 

Jos,  however,  remained  behind  over  the  play-table; 
he  was  no  gambler,  but  not  averse  to  the  little  excitement 
of  the  sport  now  and  then ;  and  he  had  some  Napoleons 
chinking  in  the  embroidered  jDOckets  of  his  court  waist- 
coat. He  put  down  one  over  the  fair  shoulder  of  the 
little  gambler  before  him,  and  they  won.  She  made  a 
little  movement  to  make  room  for  him  by  her  side,  and 
just  took  the  skirt  of  her  gown  from  a  vacant  chair 
there. 

"  Come  and  give  me  good  luck,"  she  said,  still  in  a 
foreign  accent,  quite  different  from  that  frank  and  per- 
fectly English  "  Thank  you,"  with  which  she  had  sa- 
luted George's  coup  in  her  favour.  The  portly  gentle- 
man, looking  round  to  see  that  nobody  of  rank  observed 
him,  sat  down;  he  muttered — "Ah,  really,  well  now, 
God  bless  my  soul.  I'm  very  fortunate;  I'm  sure  to 
give  you  good  fortune,"  and  other  words  of  compliment 
and  confusion. 

"  Do  you  play  much? "  the  foreign  mask  said. 

"  I  put  a  Nap  or  two  down,"  said  Jos,  with  a  superb 
air,  flinging  down  a  gold  piece. 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO        283 

"Yes;  ay  nap  after  dinner,"  said  the  mask,  archly. 
But  Jos  looking  frightened,  she  continued,  in  her  pretty 
French  accent,  "  You  do  not  play  to  win.  No  more  do 
I,  I  play  to  forget,  but  I  cannot.  I  cannot  forget  old 
times,  ^Monsieur.  Your  little  nephew  is  the  image  of 
his  father;  and  you — you  are  not  changed — but  yes, 
you  are.  Everybody  changes,  everj^body  forgets;  no- 
body has  any  heart." 

"  Good  God,  who  is  it?  "  asked  Jos  in  a  flutter. 

"Can't  you  guess,  Joseph  Sedley?"  said  the  little 
woman,  in  a  sad  voice,  and  undoing  her  mask,  she  looked 
at  him.     "  You  have  forgotten  me." 

"Good  Heavens!    JNlrs.  Crawley!"  gasped  out  Jos. 

"  Rebecca,"  said  the  other,  putting  her  hand  on  his; 
but  she  followed  the  game  still,  all  the  time  she  was 
looking  at  him. 

"  I  am  stopping  at  the  Elephant,"  she  continued. 
"  Ask  for  JNIadame  de  Raudon.  I  saw  my  dear  Amelia 
to-day;  how  pretty  she  looked,  and  how  happy!  So  do 
you!  Everybody  but  me,  who  am  wretched,  Joseph 
Sedley."  And  she  put  her  money  over  from  the  red  to 
the  black,  as  if  by  a  chance  movement  of  her  hand,  and 
while  she  was- wiping  her  eyes  with  a  pocket-handkerchief 
fringed  with  torn  lace. 

The  red  came  up  again,  and  she  lost  the  whole  of  that 
stake.  "  Come  away,"  she  said.  "  Come  with  me  a  little 
— we  are  old  friends,  are  we  not,  dear  Mr.  Sedley?  " 

And  ISIr.  Kirscli  having  lost  all  his  money  by  this 
time,  followed  his  master  out  into  the  moonliglit,  where 
the  illuminations  were  winking  out,  and  the  transparency 
over  our  mission  was  scarcely  visible. 


CHAPTER   LXIV 


A    VAGABOND    CHxVPTER 


-T= 


E  must  pass  over  a  part  of  Mrs. 
Rebecca  Crawley's  biography 
with  that  lightness  and  delicacy 
which  the  world  demands — the 
moral  world,  that  has,  perhaps, 
no  particular  objection  to  vice, 
but  an  insuperable  repugnance 
to  hearing  vice  called  by  its 
proper  name.  There  are  things 
we  do  and  know  perfectly  well 
in  Vanity  Fair,  though  we 
never  speak  of  them:  as  the 
Ahrimanians  worship  the  devil,  but  don't  mention  him: 
and  a  polite  public  will  no  more  bear  to  read  an  authentic 
description  of  vice  than  a  truly-refined  English  or  Amer- 
ican female  will  permit  the  word  breeches  to  be  pro- 
nounced in  her  chaste  hearing.  And  yet,  Madam,  both 
are  walking  the  world  before  our  faces  every  day,  without 
much  shocking  us.  If  you  were  to  blush  every  time  they 
went  by,  what  complexions  you  would  have!  It  is  only 
when  their  naughty  names  are  called  out  that  your  mod- 
esty has  any  occasion  to  show  alarm  or  sense  of  outrage, 
and  it  has  been  the  wish  of  the  present  writer,  all  through 
this  story,  deferentially  to  submit  to  the  fashion  at  pres- 
ent prevailing,  and  only  to  hint  at  the  existence  of  wick- 
edness in  a  light,  easy,  and  agreeable  manner,  so  that 

284 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO        285 

nobodj'''s  fine  feelings  may  be  offended.  I  defy  any  one 
to  say  that  our  Beckj%  who  has  certainly  some  vices,  has 
not  been  presented  to  the  public  in  a  perfectly  genteel 
and  inoffensive  manner.  In  describing  this  syren,  sing- 
ing and  smiling,  coaxing  and  cajoling,  the  author,  with 
modest  pride,  asks  his  readers  all  round,  has  he  once 
forgotten  the  laws  of  politeness,  and  showed  the  mon- 
ster's hideous  tail  above  water?  No!  Those  who  like 
may  peep  down  under  waves  that  are  pretty  transparent, 
and  see  it  writhing  and  twirling,  diabolically  hideous 
and  slimy,  flapping  amongst  bones,  or  curling  round 
corpses;  but  above  the  water-line,  I  ask,  has  not  every- 
thing been  proper,  agreeable,  and  decorous,  and  has  any 
the  most  squeamish  immoralist  in  Vanity  Fair  a  right 
to  cry  fie?  When,  however,  the  syren  disappears  and 
dives  below,  down  among  the  dead  men,  the  water  of 
course  grows  turbid  over  her,  and  it  is  labour  lost  to 
look  into  it  ever  so  curiously.  They  look  pretty  enough 
when  they  sit  upon  a  rock,  twanging  their  harps  and 
combing  their  hair,  and  sing,  and  beckon  to  you  to  come 
and  hold  the  looking-glass;  but  when  they  sink  into 
their  native  element,  depend  on  it  those  mermaids 
are  about  no  good,  and  we  had  best  not  examine  the 
fiendish  marine  cannibals,  revelling  and  feasting  on 
their  wretched  pickled  victims.  And  so,  when  Becky  is 
out  of  the  way,  be  sure  that  she  is  not  particularly  ^^'ell 
employed,  and  that  the  less  that  is  said  about  her  doings 
is  in  fact  the  better. 

If  we  were  to  give  a  full  account  of  her  ^proceedings 
during  a  couple  of  years  that  followed  after  the  Curzon 
Street  catastrophe,  there  might  be  some  reason  for  peo- 
ple to  say  this  book  was  impro])er.  The  actions  of  very 
vain,  heartless,  pleasure-seeking  ])eople  are  very  often 

VOL.  III. 


286  VANITY  FAIR 

improper  (as  are  many  of  yours,  my  friend  with  the 
grave  face  and  spotless  reputation; — but  that  is  merely 
by  the  way)  ;  and  what  are  those  of  a  woman  without 
faith— or  love — or  character?  And  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  there  was  a  period  in  Mrs.  Becky's  life,  when 
she  was  seized,  not  by  remorse,  but  by  a  kind  of  despair, 
and  absolutely  neglected  her  person,  and  did  not  even 
care  for  her  reputation. 

This  abattement  and  degradation  did  not  take  place 
all  at  once :  it  was  brought  about  by  degrees,  after  her 
calamity,  and  after  many  struggles  to  keep  up — as  a 
man  who  goes  overboard  hangs  on  to  a  spar  whilst  any 
hope  is  left,  and  then  flings  it  away  and  goes  down, 
when  he  finds  that  struggling  is  in  vain. 

She  lingered  about  London  whilst  her  husband  was 
making  preparations  for  his  departure  to  his  seat  of 
government:  and  it  is  believed  made  more  than  one  at- 
tempt to  see  her  brother-in-law,  Sir  Pitt  Crawley,  and 
to  work  upon  his  feelings,  which  she  had  almost  enlisted 
in  her  favour.  As  Sir  Pitt  and  Mr.  Wenham  were  walk- 
ing down  to  the  House  of  Commons,  the  latter  spied 
Mrs.  Rawdon  in  a  black  veil,  and  lurking  near  the  palace 
of  the  legislature.  She  sneaked  away  when  her  eyes  met 
those  of  Wenham,  and  indeed  never  succeeded  in  her 
designs  upon  the  Baronet. 

Probably  Lady  Jane  interposed.  I  have  heard  that 
she  quite  astonished  her  husband  by  the  spirit  which  she 
exhibited  in  this  quarrel,  and  her  determination  to  dis- 
own Mrs.  Becky.  Of  her  own  movement,  she  invited 
Rawdon  to  come  and  stop  in  Gaunt  Street  until  his  de- 
parture for  Coventry  Island,  knowing  that  with  him 
for  a  guard  Mrs.  Becky  would  not  try  to  force  her  door: 
and  she  looked  curiously  at  the  superscriptions  of  all 


A  XOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        287 

the  letters  which  arrived  for  Sir  Pitt,  lest  he  and  his 
sister-in-law  should  be  corresponding.  Not  but  that 
Rebecca  could  have  written  had  she  a  mind:  but  she 
did  not  try  to  see  or  to  write  to  Pitt  at  his  own  house, 
and  after  one  or  two  attempts  consented  to  his  demand 
that  the  correspondence  regarding  her  conjugal  diifer- 
ences  should  be  carried  on  by  lawyers  only. 

The  fact  was,  that  Pitt's  mind  had  been  poisoned 
against  her.  A  short  time  after  Lord  Steyne's  accident 
Wenham  had  been  with  the  Baronet;  and  given  him 
such  a  biography  of  ]Mrs.  Becky  as  had  astonished  the 
member  for  Queen's  Crawley.  He  knew  everything 
regarding  her:  who  her  father  was;  in  what  year  her 
mother  danced  at  the  Opera ;  what  had  been  her  previous 
history,  and  what  her  conduct  during  her  married  life: 
—as  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  greater  part  of  the  story 
was  false  and  dictated  by  interested  malevolence,  it  shall 
not  be  repeated  here.  But  Becky  was  left  with  a 
sad  reputation  in  the  esteem  of  a  country  gentleman 
and  relative  who  had  been  once  rather  partial  to  her. 

The  revenues  of  the  Governor  of  Coventry  Island 
are  not  large.  A  part  of  them  were  set  aside  by  his 
Excellency  for  the  payment  of  certain  outstanding  debts 
and  liabilities,  the  charges  incident  on  his  high  situation 
required  considerable  expense;  finally,  it  was  found  that 
he  could  not  spare  to  his  wife  more  than  three  hundred 
pounds  a  year,  which  he  ]iro])osed  to  pay  to  her  on  an 
undertaking  that  she  woidd  never  trouble  him.  Otlier- 
wise :  scandal,  separation.  Doctors'  Commons  would  en- 
sue. But  it  was  Mr.  Wenham's  business.  Lord  Steyne's 
business,  Rawdon's,  everybody's — to  get  her  out  of  the 
country,  and  hush  up  a  most  disagreeable  affair. 

She  was  probaljly  so  much  occupied  in  arranging  these 


288  VANITY  FAIR 

affairs  of  business  with  her  husband's  lawyers,  that  she 
forgot  to  take  any  step  whatever  about  her  son,  the  httle 
Rawdon,  and  did  not  even  once  propose  to  go  and  see 
him.  That  young  gentleman  was  consigned  to  the  en- 
tire guardianship  of  his  aunt  and  uncle,  the  former  of 
whom  had  always  possessed  a  great  share  of  the  child's 
affection.  His  mamma  wrote  him  a  neat  letter  from 
Boulogne  when  she  quitted  England,  in  which  she  re- 
quested him  to  mind  his  book,  and  said  she  was  going  to 
take  a  Continental  tour,  during  which  she  would  have 
the  pleasure  of  writing  to  him  again.  But  she  never 
did  for  a  year  afterwards,  and  not,  indeed,  until  Sir 
Pitt's  only  boy,  always  sickly,  died  of  hooping-cough 
and  measles; — then  Rawdon's  mamma  wrote  the  most 
affectionate  composition  to  her  darling  son,  who  was 
made  heir  of  Queen's  Crawley  by  this  accident,  and 
drawn  more  closely  than  ever  to  the  kind  lady,  whose 
tender  heart  had  already  adopted  him.  Rawdon  Craw- 
ley, then  grown  a  tall,  fine  lad,  blushed  when  he  got  the 
letter.  "  Oh,  Aunt  Jane,  you  are  my  mother!  "  he  said; 
"  and  not — and  not  that  one."  But  he  wrote  back  a 
kind  and  respectful  letter  to  Mrs.  Rebecca,  then  living 
at  a  boarding-house  at  Florence.  —  But  we  are  advancing 
matters. 

Our  darling  Becky's  first  flight  was  not  very  far.  She 
perched  upon  the  French  coast  at  Boulogne,  that  refuge 
of  so  much  exiled  English  innocence;  and  there  lived 
in  rather  a  genteel,  widowed  manner,  with  a  feinme  de 
chambre  and  a  couple  of  rooms,  at  an  hotel.  She  dined 
at  the  table  d'hote,  where  people  thought  her  very  pleas- 
ant, and  where  she  entertained  her  neighbours  by  stories 
of  her  brother.  Sir  Pitt,  and  her  great  London  acquain- 
tance ;  talking  that  easy,  fashionable  slipslop,  which  has 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A    HERO        289 

so  much  effect  upon  certain  folks  of  small  breeding. 
She  passed  with  many  of  them  for  a  person  of  impor- 
tance ;  she  gave  little  tea-parties  in  her  private  room,  and 
shared  in  the  innocent  amusements  of  the  place, — in  sea- 
bathing, and  in  jaunts  in  open  carriages,  in  strolls  on 
the  sands,  and  in  visits  to  the  play.  Mrs.  Burjoice,  the 
printer's  lady,  who  was  boarding  with  her  family  at 
the  hotel  for  the  summer,  and  to  whom  her  Burjoice 
came  of  a  Saturday  and  Sunday,  voted  her  charming, 
until  that  little  rogue  of  a  Burjoice  began  to  pay  her 
too  much  attention.  But  there  was  nothing  in  the  story, 
only  that  Becky  was  always  affable,  easy,  and  good- 
natured — and  with  men  especially. 

Numbers  of  people  were  going  abroad  as  usual  at  the 
end  of  the  season,  and  Becky  had  plenty  of  opportuni- 
ties of  finding  out  by  the  behaviour  of  her  acquaintances 
of  the  great  London  world  the  opinion  of  "  society  "  as 
regarded  her  conduct.  One  day  it  was  Lady  Partlet 
and  her  daughters  whom  Becky  confronted  as  she  was 
walking  modestly  on  Boulogne  pier,  the  cliffs  of  Albion 
shining  in  the  distance  across  the  deep  blue  sea.  Lady 
Partlet  marshalled  all  her  daughters  round  her  with  a 
sweep  of  her  parasol,  and  retreated  from  the  pier  dart- 
ing savage  glances  at  poor  little  Becky  who  stood  alone 
there. 

On  another  day  the  packet  came  in.  It  had  been  blow- 
ing fresh,  and  it  always  suited  Becky's  humour  to  see 
the  droll  woe-begone  faces  of  the  people  as  they  emerged 
from  the  boat.  Lady  Slingstone  happened  to  be  on 
board  this  day.  Her  ladyship  had  been  exceedingly  ill 
in  her  carriage,  and  was  greatly  exliausted  and  scarcely 
fit  to  walk  uj)  the  plank  from  the  sliip  to  the  pier.  But 
all  her  energies  rallied  the  instant  she  saw  Becky  smiling 


290  VANITY  FAIR 

roguishly  under  a  pink  bonnet :  and  giving  her  a  glance 
of  scorn,  such  as  would  have  shrivelled  up  most  women, 
she  walked  into  the  Custom  House  quite  unsupported. 
Becky  only  laughed :  but  I  don't  think  she  liked  it.  She 
felt  she  was  alone,  quite  alone:  and  the  far-off  shining 
cliffs  of  England  were  impassable  to  her. 

The  behaviour  of  the  men  had  undergone  too  I  don't 
know  what  change.  Grinstone  showed  his  teeth  and 
laughed  in  her  face  with  a  familiarity  that  was  not  pleas- 
ant. Little  Bob  Suckling,  who  was  cap  in  hand  to  her 
three  months  before,  and  would  walk  a  mile  in  the  rain 
to  seek  for  her  carriage  in  the  line  at  Gaunt  House,  was 
talking  to  Fitzoof  of  the  Guards  (Lord  Heehaw's  son) 
one  day  upon  the  jetty,  as  Becky  took  her  walk  there. 
Little  Bobby  nodded  to  her  over  his  shoulder  without 
moving  his  hat,  and  continued  his  conversation  with 
the  heir  of  Heehaw.  Tom  Raikes  tried  to  walk  into  her 
sitting-room  at  the  inn  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth;  but 
she  closed  the  door  upon  him  and  would  have  locked  it 
only  that  his  fingers  were  inside.  She  began  to  feel  that 
she  was  very  lonely  indeed.  "  If  he'd  been  here,"  she 
said,  "  those  cowards  would  never  have  dared  to  insult 
me."  She  thought  about  "  him  "  with  great  sadness,  and 
perhaps  longing — about  his  honest,  stupid,  constant 
kindness  and  fidelity:  his  never-ceasing  obedience;  his 
good  humour ;  his  bravery  and  courage.  Very  likely  she 
cried,  for  she  was  particularly  lively,  and  had  put  on  a 
little  extra  rouge  when  she  came  down  to  dinner. 

She  rouged  regularly  now:  and — and  her  maid  got 
cognac  for  her  besides  that  which  was  charged  in  the 
hotel  bill. 

Perhaps  the  insults  of  the  men  were  not,  however,  so 
intolerable  to  her  as  the  sympathy  of  certain  women. 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        291 

Mrs.  Crackenbury  and  Mrs.  Washington  White  passed 
through  Boulogne  on  their  way  to  Switzerland.  (The 
party  were  protected  by  Colonel  Horner,  young  Beau- 
moris,  and  of  course  old  Crackenbury,  and  Mrs.  White's 
little  girl.)  They  did  not  avoid  her.  They  giggled, 
cackled,  tattled,  condoled,  consoled,  and  patronised  her 
until  they  drove  her  almost  wild  with  rage.  To  be  pa- 
tronised by  them!  she  thought,  as  they  went  away  sim- 
pering after  kissing  her.  And  she  heard  Beaumoris's 
laugh  ringing  on  the  stair,  and  knew  quite  well  how  to 
interpret  his  hilarity. 

It  was  after  this  visit  that  Becky,  who  had  paid  her 
weekly  bills,  Becky  who  had  made  herself  agreeable  to 
every  body  in  the  house,  who  smiled  at  the  landlady, 
called  the  waiters  "  Monsieur,"  and  paid  the  chamber- 
maids in  politeness  and  apologies,  what  far  more  than 
compensated  for  a  little  niggardliness  in  point  of  money 
(of  which  Becky  never  was  free),  that  Becky,  we  say, 
received  a  notice  to  quit  from  the  landlord,  who  had  been 
told  by  some  one  that  she  was  quite  an  unfit  person  to 
have  at  his  hotel,  where  English  ladies  would  not  sit 
down  with  her.  And  she  was  forced  to  fly  into  lodgings, 
of  which  the  dulness  and  solitude  were  most  wearisome 
to  her. 

Still  she  held  up,  in  spite  of  these  rebuffs,  and  tried 
to  make  a  character  for  herself,  and  conquer  scandal. 
She  went  to  church  very  regularly,  and  sang  louder  than 
anybody  there.  She  took  up  the  cause  of  the  widows  of 
the  shipwrecked  fishermen,  and  gave  work  and  drawings 
for  the  Quashyboo  INIission;  she  subscribed  to  the  As- 
sembly and  •wouldnH  waltz.  In  a  word,  she  did  every- 
thing that  was  respectable,  and  that  is  why  we  dwell 
upon  this  part  of  her  career  with  more  fondness  than 


292  VANITY  FAIR 

upon  subsequent  parts  of  her  history,  which  are  not  so 
pleasant.  She  saw  people  avoiding  her,  and  still  labori- 
ously smiled  upon  them ;  you  never  could  suppose  from 
her  countenance  what  pangs  of  humiliation  she  might  be 
enduring  inwardly. 

Her  history  was  after  all  a  mystery.  Parties  were 
divided  about  her.  Some  people,  who  took  the  trouble 
to  busy  themselves  in  the  matter,  said  that  she  was  a 
criminal;  whilst  others  vowed  that  she  was  as  innocent 
as  a  lamb,  and  that  her  odious  husband  was  in  fault. 
She  won  over  a  good  many  by  bursting  into  tears  about 
her  boy,  and  exhibiting  the  most  frantic  grief  when  his 
name  was  mentioned,  or  she  saw  anybody  like  him.  She 
gained  good  Mrs.  Alderney's  heart  in  that  way,  who  was 
rather  the  Queen  of  British  Boulogne,  and  gave  the 
most  dinners  and  balls  of  all  the  residents  there,  by  weep- 
ing when  Master  Alderney  came  from  Dr.  Swishtail's 
academy  to  pass  his  holidays  with  his  mother.  "  He  and 
her  Rawdon  were  of  the  same  age,  and  so  like,"  Becky 
said,  in  a  voice  choking  with  agony;  whereas  there  was 
five  years'  difference  between  the  boys'  ages,  and  no 
more  likeness  between  them  than  between  my  respected 
reader  and  his  humble  servant.  Wenham,  when  he  was 
going  abroad,  on  his  way  to  Kissingen  to  join  Lord 
Steyne,  enlightened  Mrs.  Alderney  on  this  point,  and 
told  her  how  he  was  much  more  able  to  describe  little 
Rawdon  than  his  mamma,  who  notoriously  hated  him, 
and  never  saw  him ;  how  he  was  thirteen  years  old,  while 
little  Alderney  was  but  nine;  fair,  while  the  other  dar- 
ling was  dark, — in  a  word,  caused  the  lady  in  question 
to  repent  of  her  good  humour. 

Whenever  Becky  made  a  little  circle  for  herself  with 
incredible  toils  and  labour,  somebody  came  and  swept 


A  XOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO        293 

it  down  rudely,  and  she  had  all  her  work  to  begin  over 
again.  It  was  very  hard:  very  hard;  lonely  and  dis- 
heartening. 

There  was  ]Mrs.  Xewbright,  who  took  her  up  for  some 
time,  attracted  by  the  sweetness  of  her  singing  at  church, 
and  by  her  proper  views  upon  serious  subjects,  concern- 
ing which  in  former  days,  at  Queen's  Crawley,  Mrs. 
Becky  had  had  a  good  deal  of  instruction. — Well,  she 
not  only  took  tracts,  but  she  read  them.  She  worked 
flannel  petticoats  for  the  Quashyboos — cotton  night-caps 
for  the  Cocoanut  Indians — painted  handscreens  for  the 
conversion  of  the  Pope  and  the  Jews — sate  under  Mr. 
Rowls  on  Wednesdays,  ]\Ir.  Huggleton  on  Thursdays, 
attended  two  Sunday  services  at  church,  besides  JNIr. 
Bawler,  the  Darbyite,  in  the  evening,  and  all  in  vain. 
i\Irs.  Newbright  had  occasion  to  correspond  with  the 
Countess  of  Southdown  about  the  Warmingpan  Fund 
for  the  Feejee  Islanders  (for  the  management  of  which 
admirable  charity  both  these  ladies  formed  part  of  a 
female  committee),  and  having  mentioned  her  "sweet 
friend,"  Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  the  Dowager  Countess 
wrote  back  such  a  letter  regarding  Becky,  with  such 
particulars,  hints,  facts,  falsehoods,  and  general  com- 
minations,  that  intimacy  between  INIrs.  Xewbright  and 
Mrs.  Crawley  ceased  forthwith:  and  all  the  serious 
world  of  Tours,  where  this  misfortune  took  place,  imme- 
diately parted  company  with  the  reprobate.  Those  who 
know  the  English  Colonies  abroad  know  that  we  carry 
with  us  our  pride,  pills,  prejudices,  Harvey-sauces,  cay- 
enne-peppers, and  other  Lares,  making  a  little  Britain 
wherever  we  settle  down. 

From   one   colony  to   another   Becky   fled   imeasily. 
From  Boulogne  to  Dieppe,  from  Dieppe  to  Caen,  from 


294<  VANITY  FAIR 

Caen  to  Tours— trying  with  all  her  might  to  be  respect- 
able, and  alas !  always  found  out  some  day  or  other,  and 
pecked  out  of  the  cage  by  the  real  daws. 

Mrs.  Hook  Eagles  took  her  up  at  one  of  these  places: 
— a  woman  without  a  blemish  in  her  character,  and  a 
house  in  Portman-square.  She  was  staying  at  the  hotel 
at  Dieppe,  whither  Becky  fled,  and  they  made  each 
other's  acquaintance  first  at  sea,  where  they  were  swim- 
ming together,  and  subsequently  at  the  table  d'hote  of 
the  hotel.  Mrs.  Eagles  had  heard, —who  indeed  had  not  ? 
—some  of  the  scandal  of  the  Steyne  affair;  but  after 
a  conversation  with  Becky,  she  pronounced  that  ^Irs. 
Crawley  was  an  angel,  her  husband  a  ruffian.  Lord 
Steyne  an  unprincipled  wretch,  as  everj^body  knew,  and 
the  whole  case  against  Mrs.  Crawley,  an  infamous  and 
wicked  conspiracy  of  that  rascal  Wenham.  "  If  you 
were  a  man  of  any  spirit,  Mr.  Eagles,  you  would  box 
the  wretch's  ears  the  next  time  you  see  him  at  the  Club," 
she  said  to  her  husband.  But  Eagles  was  only  a  quiet 
old  gentleman,  husband  to  Mrs.  Eagles,  with  a  taste  for 
geology,  and  not  tall  enough  to  reach  anybody's  ears. 

The  Eagles  then  patronised  Mrs.  Rawdon,  took  her 
to  live  with  her  at  her  own  house  at  Paris,  quarrelled 
with  the  ambassador's  wife  because  she  would  not  re- 
ceive her  protegee,  and  did  all  that  lay  in  woman's  power 
to  keep  Becky  straight  in  the  paths  of  virtue  and  good 
repute. 

Becky  was  very  respectable  and  orderly  at  first,  but 
the  life  of  humdrum  virtue  grew  utterly  tedious  to  her 
before  long.  It  was  the  same  routine  every  day,  the 
same  dulness  and  comfort,  the  same  drive  over  the  same 
stupid  Bois  de  Boulogne,  the  same  company  of  an  even- 
ing, the  same  Blair's  Sermon  of  a  Sunday  night— the 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        295 

same  opera  always  being  acted  over  and  over  again: 
Becky  was  dying  of  weariness,  when,  luckily  for  her, 
young  ]\lr.  Eagles  came  from  Cambridge,  and  his 
mother,  seeing  the  impression  which  her  little  friend 
made  upon  him,  straightway  gave  Becky  warning. 

Then  she  tried  keeping  house  with  a  female  friend; 
then  the  double  menage  began  to  quarrel  and  get  into 
debt.  Then  she  determined  upon  a  boarding-house  ex- 
istence, and  lived  for  some  time  at  that  famous  mansion 
kept  by  ]Madame  de  Saint  Amour,  in  the  Rue  Royale, 
at  Paris,  where  she  began  exercising  her  graces  and  fas- 
cinations upon  the  shabby  dandies  and  fly-blown  beauties 
who  frequented  her  landlady's  salons.  Becky  loved  soci- 
ety, and,  indeed,  could  no  more  exist  without  it  than  an 
opium-eater  without  his  dram,  and  she  was  happy 
enough  at  the  period  of  her  boarding-house  life.  "  The 
women  here  are  as  amusing  as  those  in  May  Fair,"  she 
told  an  old  London  friend  who  met  her — "  only,  their 
dresses  are  not  quite  so  fresh.  The  men  wear  cleaned 
gloves,  and  are  sad  rogues,  certainly,  but  they  are  not 
worse  than  Jack  This  and  Tom  That.  The  mistress  of 
the  house  is  a  little  vulgar,  but  I  don't  think  she  is  so 

vulgar  as  Lady "  and  here  she  named  the  name  of 

a  great  leader  of  fashion  that  I  would  die  rather  than 
reveal.  In  fact,  when  you  saw  Madame  de  Saint 
xVmour's  rooms  lighted  up  of  a  night,  men  with  j^lfiques 
and  cordons  at  the  ecarte  tables,  and  the  women  at  a 
little  distance,  you  might  fancy  yourself  for  a  while  in 
good  society,  and  that  Madame  was  a  real  Countess. 
Many  people  did  so  fancy:  and  Becky  was  for  a  while 
one  of  the  most  dashing  ladies  of  the  Countess's  salons. 

But  it  is  pro})a})le  that  lier  old  creditors  of  1815  found 
her  out  and  caused  her  to  leave  Paris,  for  the  poor  little 


296  VANITY  FAIR 

woman  was  forced  to  fly  from  the  city  rather  suddenly ; 
and  went  thence  to  Brussels. 

How  well  she  remembered  the  place!  She  grinned 
as  she  looked  up  at  the  little  entresol  which  she  had  oc- 
cupied, and  thought  of  the  Bareacres  family,  bawling 
for  horses  and  flight,  as  their  carriage  stood  in  the  porte- 
cochere  of  the  hotel.  She  went  to  Waterloo  and  to 
Laeken,  where  George  Osborne's  monument  much  struck 
her.  She  made  a  little  sketch  of  it.  "  That  poor  Cu- 
pid!" she  said;  "how  dreadfully  he  was  in  love  with 
me,  and  what  a  fool  he  was!  I  wonder  whether  little 
Emmy  is  alive.  It  was  a  good  little  creature:  and  that 
fat  brother  of  hers.  I  have  his  funny  fat  picture  still 
among  my  papers.     They  were  kind  simple  people." 

At  Brussels  Becky  arrived,  recommended  by  Madame 
de  Saint  Amour  to  her  friend,  Madame  la  Comtesse  de 
Borodino,  widow  of  Napoleon's  General,  the  famous 
Count  de  Borodino,  who  was  left  with  no  resource  by 
the  deceased  hero  but  that  of  a  table  d'hote  and  an  ecarte 
table.  Second-rate  dandies  and  roues,  widow-ladies  who 
always  have  a  law-suit,  and  very  simple  English  folks, 
who  fancy  they  see  "  Continental  society "  at  these 
houses,  put  down  their  money,  or  ate  their  meals,  at 
Madame  de  Borodino's  tables.  The  gallant  young  fel- 
lows treated  the  company  round  to  champagne  at  the 
tahle-d'hote ,  rode  out  with  the  women,  or  hired  horses 
on  country  excursions,  clubbed  money  to  take  boxes  at 
the  play  or  the  Opera,  betted  over  the  fair  shoulders  of 
the  ladies  at  the  ecarte  tables,  and  wrote  home  to  their 
parents,  in  Devonshire,  about  their  felicitous  introduc- 
tion to  foreign  society. 

Here,  as  at  Paris,  Becky  was  a  boarding-house  queen: 
and  ruled  in  select  pensions.     She  never  refused  the 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO 


297 


champagne,  or  the  bouquets,  or  the  drives  into  the  coun- 
try, or  the  private  boxes;  but  what  she  preferred  was 
the  ecarte  at  night, — and  she  played  audaciously.  First 
she  played  only  for  a  little,  then  for  five-franc  pieces. 


\^-      l^ 


then  for  Napoleons,  then  for  notes :  then  she  would  not 
be  able  to  pay  her  month's  pension:  then  she  borrowed 
from  the  yoimg  gentlemen:  then  she  got  into  cash  again, 
and  bullied  Madame  de  Borodino,  whom  she  had  coaxed 
and  wheedled  before:  then  she  was  playing  for  ten  sous 
at  a  time,  and  in  a  dire  state  of  poverty:   then  her  quar- 


298  VANITY  FAIR 

ter's  allowance  would  come  in,  and  she  would  pay  off 
Madame  de  Borodino's  score:  and  would  once  more 
take  the  cards  against  Monsieur  de  Rossignol,  or  the 
Chevalier  de  RafF. 

When  Becky  left  Brussels,  the  sad  truth  is,  that  she 
owed  three  months'  pension  to  Madame  de  Borodino, 
of  which  fact,  and  of  the  gambling,  and  of  the  drinking, 
and  of  the  going  down  on  her  knees  to  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Muff,  Ministre  Anglican,  and  borrowing  money 
of  him,  and  of  her  coaxing  and  flirting  with  Milor 
Noodle,  son  of  Sir  Noodle,  pupil  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Muff, 
whom  she  used  to  take  into  her  private  room,  and  of 
whom  she  won  large  sums  at  ecarte — of  which  fact,  I 
say,  and  of  a  hundred  of  her  other  knaveries,  the  Coun- 
tess de  Borodino  informs  every  English  person  who 
stops  at  her  establishment,  and  announces  that  Madame 
Rawdon  was  no  better  than  a  vipere. 

So  our  little  wanderer  went  about  setting  up  her 
tent  in  various  cities  of  Europe,  as  restless  as  Ulysses 
or  Bampf ylde  Moore  Carew.  Her  taste  for  disrespecta- 
bility  grew  more  and  more  remarkable.  She  became  a 
perfect  Bohemian  ere  long,  herding  with  people  whom 
it  would  make  your  hair  stand  on  end  to  meet. 

There  is  no  town  of  any  mark  in  Europe  but  it  has 
its  little  colony  of  English  raffs— men  whose  names  Mr. 
Hemp  the  officer  reads  out  periodically  at  the  Sheriff's 
Court — young  gentlemen  of  very  good  family  often, 
only  that  the  latter  disowns  them ;  frequenters  of  billiard- 
rooms  and  estaminets,  patrons  of  foreign  races  and  gam- 
ing-tables. They  people  the  debtors'  prisons— they 
drink  and  swagger — they  fight  and  brawl — they  run 
away  without  paying — they  have  duels  with  French  and 
German  officers— they  cheat  Mr.  Spooney  at  ecarte— 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A   HERO        299 

they  get  the  money,  and  drive  off  to  Baden  in  magnifi- 
cent britzkas— they  try  their  infaUible  martingale,  and 
lurk  about  the  tables  with  empty  pockets,  shabby  bullies, 
penniless  bucks,  until  they  can  swindle  a  Jew  banker  with 
a  sham  bill  of  exchange,  or  find  another  Mr.  Spooney 
to  rob.  The  alternations  of  splendour  and  misery  which 
these  people  undergo  are  very  queer  to  view.  Their  life 
must  be  one  of  great  excitement.  Becky — must  it  be 
owned? — took  to  this  life,  and  took  to  it  not  unkindly. 
She  went  about  from  town  to  town  among  these  Bohe- 
mians. The  lucky  Mrs.  Rawdon  was  known  at  every 
play-table  in  Germany.  She  and  Madame  de  Cruche- 
cassee  kept  house  at  Florence  together.  It  is  said  she 
was  ordered  out  of  Munich;  and  my  friend  JNIr.  Fred- 
erick Pigeon  avers  that  it  was  at  her  house  at  Lausanne 
that  he  was  hocussed  at  supper  and  lost  eight  hundred 
pounds  to  Major  Loder  and  the  Honourable  Mr. 
Deuceace.  We  are  bound,  you  see,  to  give  some  account 
of  Becky's  biography ;  but  of  this  part,  the  less,  perhaps^ 
that  is  said  the  better. 

They  say,  that  when  INIrs.  Crawley  was  particularly 
down  on  her  luck,  she  gave  concerts  and  lessons  in  music 
here  and  there.  There  was  a  Madame  de  Raudon,  who 
certainly  had  a  matinee  musicale  at  Wildbad,  accompa- 
nied by  Herr  Spoff,  premier  pianist  to  the  Hospodar 
of  Wallachia,  and  my  little  friend  Mr.  Eaves,  who 
knew  everybody,  and  had  travelled  everywhere,  always 
used  to  declare  that  he  was  at  Strasburg  in  the  year  1830, 
when  a  certain  Madame  Rebecque  made  her  appearance 
in  the  opera  of  the  "  Dame  Blanche,"  giving  occasion  to 
a  furious  row  in  the  theatre  there.  She  was  hissed  off 
the  stage  by  the  audience,  |)artly  from  her  own  incompe- 
tency, but  cbieHy  from  tlie  ill-advised  sympathy  of  some 


300  VANITY   FAIR 

persons  in  the  parquet,  (where  the  officers  of  the  garri- 
son had  their  admissions)  ;  and  Eaves  was  certain  that 
the  unfortunate  debutante  in  question  was  no  other  than 
]\Irs.  Rawdon  Crawley. 

She  was,  in  fact,  no  better  than  a  vagabond  upon  this 
earth.  When  she  got  her  money  she  gambled ;  when  she 
had  gambled  it  she  was  put  to  shifts  to  live ;  who  knows 
how  or  by  what  means  she  succeeded?  It  is  said  that  she 
was  once  seen  at  St.  Petersburg,  but  was  summarily  dis- 
missed from  that  capital  by  the  police,  so  that  there  can- 
not be  any  possibility  of  truth  in  the  report  that  she  was 
a  Russian  spy  at  Toplitz  and  Vienna  afterwards.  I 
have  even  been  informed,  that  at  Paris  she  discovered  a 
relation  of  her  own,  no  less  a  person  than  her  maternal 
grandmother,  who  was  not  by  any  means  a  Montmo- 
renci,  but  a  hideous  old  box-opener  at  a  theatre  on  the 
Boulevards.  The  meeting  between  them,  of  which  other 
persons,  as  it  is  hinted  elsewhere,  seem  to  have  been  ac- 
quainted, must  have  been  a  very  affecting  interview. 
The  present  historian  can  give  no  certain  details  regard- 
ing the  event. 

It  happened  at  Rome  once,  that  Mrs.  de  Rawdon's 
half-year's  salary  had  just  been  paid  into  the  principal 
bankers  there,  and,  as  everybody  who  had  a  balance  of 
above  five  hundred  scudi  was  invited  to  the  balls  which 
this  prince  of  merchants  gave  during  the  winter,  Becky 
had  the  honour  of  a  card,  and  appeared  at  one  of  the 
Prince  and  Princess  Polonia's  splendid  evening  enter- 
tainments. The  Princess  was  of  the  family  of  Pom- 
pili,  lineally  descended  from  the  second  king  of  Rome, 
and  Egeria  of  the  house  of  Olympus,  while  the  Prince's 
grandfather,  Alessandro  Polonia,  sold  wash-balls,  es- 
sences, tobacco,  and  pocket-handkerchiefs,  ran  errands 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT  A  HERO        301 

for  gentlemen,  and  lent  money  in  a  small  way.  All  the 
great  company  in  Rome  thronged  to  his  saloons — 
Princes,  Dukes,  Ambassadors,  artists,  fiddlers,  monsi- 
gnori,  young  bears  with  their  leaders — every  rank  and 
condition  of  man.  His  halls  blazed  with  light  and  mag- 
nificence; were  resplendent  with  gilt  frames  (contain- 
ing pictures),  and  dubious  antiques:  and  the  enormous 
gilt  crown  and  arms  of  the  princely  owner,  a  gold  mush- 
room on  a  crimson  field  (the  colour  of  the  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs which  he  sold ) ,  and  the  silver  fountain  of  the 
Pompili  family  shone  all  over  the  roof,  doors,  and  panels 
of  the  house,  and  over  the  grand  velvet  baldaquins 
prepared  to  receive  Popes  and  Emperors. 

So  Becky,  who  had  arrived  in  the  diligence  from 
Florence,  and  was  lodged  at  an  inn  in  a  very  modest 
way,  got  a  card  for  Prince  Polonia's  entertainment,  and 
her  maid  dressed  her  with  unusual  care,  and  she  went  to 
this  fine  ball  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Major  Loder,  with 
whom  she  happened  to  be  travelling  at  the  time —  (the 
same  man  who  shot  Prince  Ravoli  at  Naples  the  next 
year,  and  was  caned  by  Sir  John  Buckskin  for  carrying 
four  kings  in  his  hat  besides  those  which  he  used  in  play- 
ing at  ecarte)  — and  this  pair  went  into  the  rooms  to- 
gether, and  Becky  saw  a  number  of  old  faces  which  she 
remembered  in  happier  days,  when  she  was  not  innocent, 
but  not  found  out.  Major  Loder  knew  a  great  number 
of  foreigners,  keen-looking  whiskered  men  with  dirty 
striped  ribbons  in  their  buttonholes,  and  a  very  small 
display  of  linen;  but  his  own  countrymen,  it  might  be 
remarked,  eschewed  the  Major.  Becky,  too,  knew  some 
ladies  here  and  there — Frencli  widows,  dubious  Italian 
countesses,  whose  hus})an(ls  had  treated  them  ill  —  faugh 
—  what  shall  we  say,  we  who  have  moved  among  some 

VOL.  III. 


302  VANITY  FAIR 

of  the  finest  company  of  Vanity  Fair,  of  this  refuse  and 
sediment  of  rascals?  If  we  play,  let  it  be  with  clean 
cards,  and  not  with  this  dirty  pack.  But  every  man  who 
has  formed  one  of  the  innumerable  army  of  travellers 
has  seen  these  marauding  irregulars  hanging  on,  like 
Nym  and  Pistol,  to  the  main  force;  wearing  the  king's 
colours,  and  boasting  of  his  commission,  but  pillaging 
for  themselves,  and  occasionally  gibbeted  by  the  road- 
side. 

Well,  she  was  hanging  on  the  arm  of  Major  Loder, 
and  they  went  through  the  rooms  together,  and  drank 
a  great  quantity  of  champagne  at  the  buffet,  where  the 
people,  and  especially  the  Major's  irregular  corps, 
struggled  furiously  for  refreshments,  of  which  when  the 
pair  had  had  enough,  they  pushed  on  until  they  reached 
the  Duchess's  own  pink  velvet  saloon,  at  the  end  of  the 
suite  of  apartments  (where  the  statue  of  the  Venus  is, 
and  the  great  Venice  looking-glasses,  framed  in  silver, ) 
and  where  the  princelj^  family  were  entertaining  their 
most  distinguished  guests  at  a  round  table  at  supper. 
It  was  just  such  a  little  select  banquet  as  that  of  which 
Becky  recollected  that  she  had  partaken  at  Lord 
Steyne's — and  there  he  sat  at  Polonia's  table,  and  she 
saw  him. 

The  scar  cut  by  the  diamond  on  his  white,  bald,  shin- 
ing forehead,  made  a  burning  red  mark;  his  red 
whiskers  were  dyed  of  a  purple  hue,  which  made  his  pale 
face  look  still  paler.  He  wore  his  collar  and  orders,  his 
blue  ribbon  and  garter.  He  was  a  greater  prince  than 
any  there,  though  there  was  a  reigning  duke  and  a  royal 
highness,  with  their  princesses,  and  near  his  lordship  was 
seated  the  beautiful  Countess  of  Belladonna,  nee  de 
dandier,  whose  husband  (the  Count  Paolo  delta  Bella- 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO 


303 


donna)  so  well  known  for  his  brilliant  entomological  col- 
lections, hatl  been  long  absent  on  a  mission  to  the 
Emperor  of  ^Morocco. 

AVhen  Becky  beheld  that  familiar  and  illustrious  face, 
liow  \  ulgar  all  of  a  sudden  did  ^Nlajor  Loder  appear  to 


her,  and  how  that  odious  Captain  Rook  did  smell  of  to- 
bacco! In  one  instant  she  reassumed  her  fine-ladyship, 
and  tried  to  look  and  feel  as  if  she  was  in  May  Fair 
once  more.  "  That  woman  looks  stupid  and  ill-hu- 
moured," she  thought;  "  I  am  sure  she  can't  amuse  him. 
Xo,  lie  must  be  bored  by  her — he  never  was  by  me."  A 
hurHh'cd  sucli  touching  hopes,  fears,  and  memories  pal- 
|)itatc(i  in  lier  httle  heart,  as  she  looked  with  her  briglitest 


304  VANITY  FAIR 

eyes  (the  rouge  which  she  wore  up  to  her  eyelids  made 
them  twinkle)  towards  the  great  nobleman.  Of  a  Star  and 
Garter  night  Lord  Steyne  used  also  to  put  on  his  grand- 
est manner,  and  to  look  and  speak  like  a  great  prince, 
as  he  was.  Becky  admired  him  smiling  sumptuously, 
easy,  lofty,  and  stately.  Ah,  bon  dieu,  what  a  pleasant 
companion  he  was,  what  a  brilliant  wit,  what  a  rich  fund 
of  talk,  what  a  grand  manner! — and  she  had  exchanged 
this  for  Major  Loder,  reeking  of  cigars  and  brandy-and- 
water,  and  Captain  Rook  with  his  horse- jockey  jokes 
and  prize-ring  slang,  and  their  like.  "  I  wonder  whether 
he  will  know  me,"  she  thought.  Lord  Steyne  was  talk- 
ing and  laughing  with  a  great  and  illustrious  lady  at  his 
side,  when  he  looked  up  and  saw  Becky. 

She  was  all  over  in  a  flutter  as  their  eyes  met,  and  she 
put  on  the  very  best  smile  she  could  muster,  and  dropped 
him  a  little,  timid,  imploring  curtsey.  He  stared  aghast 
at  her  for  a  minute,  as  Macbeth  might  on  beholding  Ban- 
quo's  sudden  appearance  at  his  ball-supper;  and  re- 
mained looking  at  her  with  open  mouth,  when  that  horrid 
Major  Loder  pulled  her  away. 

"  Come  away  into  the  supper-room,  Mrs.  R.,"  was  that 
gentleman's  remark:  "  seeing  these  nobs  grubbing  away 
has  made  me  peckish  too.  Let's  go  and  try  the  old  gov- 
ernor's champagne."  Becky  thought  the  Major  had 
had  a  great  deal  too  much  already. 

The  day  after  she  went  to  walk  on  the  Pincian  Hill 
— the  Hyde  Park  of  the  Roman  idlers — possibly  in 
hopes  to  have  another  sight  of  Lord  Steyne.  But  she 
met  another  acquaintance  there:  it  was  Mr.  Fiche,  his 
lordship's  confidential  man,  who  came  up  nodding  to 
her  rather  familiarly,  and  putting  a  finger  to  his  hat. 
"  I  knew  that  Madame  was  here,"  he  said;   "  I  followed 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO        305 

her  from  her  hotel.  I  have  some  advice  to  give  Ma- 
dame." 

"From  the  Marquis  of  Steyne?"  Becky  asked,  re- 
smning  as  much  of  her  dignity  as  she  could  muster,  and 
not  a  little  agitated  by  hope  and  expectation. 

"  No,"  said  the  valet;  "  it  is  from  me.  Rome  is  very 
unwholesome." 

"  Not  at  this  season.  Monsieur  Fiche,— not  till  after 
Easter." 

"  I  tell  Madame  it  is  unwholesome  now.  There  is  al- 
ways malaria  for  some  people.  That  cursed  marsh  wind 
kills  many  at  all  seasons.  Look,  Madame  Crawley,  you 
were  always  bon  enfant^  and  I  have  an  interest  in  you 
parole  d'honneur.  Be  warned.  Go  away  from  Rome, 
I  tell  you — or  you  will  be  ill  and  die." 

Becky  laughed,  though  in  rage  and  fury.  "What! 
assassinate  poor  little  me?  "  she  said.  "  How  romantic. 
Does  my  lord  carry  bravos  for  couriers,  and  stilettos  in 
the  fourgons?  Bah!  I  will  stay,  if  but  to  plague  him. 
I  have  those  who  will  defend  me  whilst  I  am  here." 

It  was  Monsieur  Fiche's  turn  to  laugh  now.  "  De- 
fend you,"  he  said,  "and  who?  The  Major,  the  Captain, 
any  one  of  those  gambling  men  whom  Madame  sees, 
would  take  her  life  for  a  hundred  Louis.  We  know 
things  about  Major  Loder  (he  is  no  more  a  Major  than 
I  am  my  Lord  the  Marquis)  which  would  send  him  to 
the  galleys  or  worse.  We  know  everything,  and  have 
friends  everywhere.  We  know  whom  you  saw  at  Paris, 
and  what  relations  you  found  there.  Yes,  Madame  may 
stare,  but  we  do.  How  was  it  that  no  minister  on  tlie 
Continent  would  receive  IMadame?  She  has  oflTended 
some})ody:  who  never  forgives  —  whose  rage  redoubled 
when  he  saw  you.     He  was  like  a  madman  last  night 


306  VANITY  FAIR 

when  he  came  home.  JNladame  de  Belladonna  made  him 
a  scene  about  vou,  and  fired  off  in  one  of  her  furies." 

"  O,  it  was  Madame  de  Belladonna,  was  it?  "  Beckv 
said,  relieved  a  little,  for  the  information  she  had  just 
got  had  scared  her. 

"  No — she  does  not  matter — she  is  always  jealous.  I 
tell  you  it  was  JNIonseigneur.  You  did  wrong  to  show 
yourself  to  him.  And  if  you  stay  here  you  will  repent 
it.  Mark  my  words.  Go.  Here  is  my  lord's  carriage  " 
—  and  seizing  Becky's  arm,  he  rushed  down  an  allej^  of 
the  garden  as  Lord  Steyne's  barouche,  blazing  with 
heraldic  devices,  came  whirling  along  the  avenue,  borne 
by  the  almost  priceless  horses,  and  bearing  JVIadame  de 
Belladonna  lolling  on  the  cushions,  dark,  sulky,  and 
blooming,  a  King  Charles  in  her  lap,  a  white  parasol 
swaying  over  her  head,  and  old  Steyne  stretched  at  her 
side  with  a  livid  face  and  ghastly  ej^es.  Hate,  or  anger, 
or  desire,  caused  them  to  brighten  now  and  then  still; 
but  ordinarily,  they  gave  no  light,  and  seemed  tired  of 
looking  out  on  a  world  of  which  almost  all  the  pleasure 
and  all  the  best  beauty  had  palled  upon  the  worn-out 
wicked  old  man. 

"  Monseigneur  has  never  recovered  the  shock  of  that 
night,  never,"  IVIonsieur  Fiche  whispered  to  JSlrs.  Craw- 
ley as  the  carriage  flashed  by,  and  she  peeped  out  at  it 
from  behind  the  shrubs  that  hid  her.  "  That  was  a  con- 
solation at  any  rate,"  Becky  thought. 

Whether  my  lord  really  had  murderous  intentions 
towards  Mrs.  Becky  as  Monsieur  Fiche  said — (since 
Monseigneur's  death  he  has  returned  to  his  native  coun- 
try, where  he  lives  much  respected,  and  has  purchased 
from  his  Prince  the  title  of  Baron  Ficci) , — and  the  fac- 
totum objected  to  have  to  do  with   assassination;    or 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT    A  HERO       307 

whether  he  simply  had  a  commission  to  frighten  JMrs. 
Crawley  out  of  a  city  where  his  lordship  proposed  to 
pass  the  winter,  and  the  sight  of  her  would  be  eminently 
disagreeable  to  the  great  nobleman,  is  a  point  which  has 
never  been  ascertained :  but  the  threat  had  its  effect  upon 
the  little  woman,  and  she  sought  no  more  to  intrude  her- 
self upon  the  presence  of  her  old  patron. 

Everybody  knows  the  melancholy  end  of  that  noble- 
man,  which  befel  at  Naples  two  months  after  the  French 
Revolution  of  1830 :  when  the  JNlost  Honourable  George 
Gustavus,  Marquis  of  Steyne,  Earl  of  Gaunt  and  of 
Gaunt  Castle,  in  the  Peerage  of  Ireland,  Viscount  Hell- 
borough,  Baron  Pitchley  and  Grillsby,  a  Knight  of  the 
^Nlost  Xoble  Order  of  the  Garter,  of  the  Golden  Fleece 
of  Spain,  of  the  Russian  Order  of  Saint  Nicholas  of  the 
First  Class,  of  the  Turkish  Order  of  the  Crescent,  First 
Lord  of  the  Powder  Closet  and  Groom  of  the  Back 
Stairs,  Colonel  of  the  Gaunt  or  Regent's  Own  Regiment 
of  Militia,  a  Trustee  of  the  British  INIuseum,  an  elder 
Brother  of  the  Trinity  House,  a  Governor  of  the  White 
Friars,  and  D.C.I^.,  —  died  after  a  series  of  fits,  brought 
on,  as  the  papers  said,  by  the  shock  occasioned  to  his 
lordship's  sensibilities  by  the  downfall  of  the  ancient 
French  monarchy. 

An  eloquent  catalogue  appeared  in  a  weekly  print, 
describing  his  virtues,  his  magnificence,  his  talents,  and 
his  good  actions.  His  sensibility,  his  attachment  to  the 
illustrious  House  of  Bourbon,  with  wliich  he  claimed 
an  alliance,  were  such  tliat  he  could  not  siu'vive  the  mis- 
fortunes of  his  august  kinsmen.  His  IkhIv  was  buried 
at  Naples,  and  his  heart— that  heart  whicli  always  beat 
with  every  generous  and  noble  emotion  —  was  brought 
l)ack  lo  Castle  Ciaunt  in  a  silver  urn.     "  In  him,"  Mr. 


308  VANITY  FAIR 

Wagg  said,  "the  poor  and  the  Fine  Arts  have  lost  a 
beneficent  patron,  society  one  of  its  most  brilHant  orna- 
ments, and  England  one  of  her  loftiest  patriots  and 
statesmen,"  &c.,  &c. 

His  will  was  a  good  deal  disputed,  and  an  attempt 
was  made  to  force  from  Madame  de  Belladonna  the  cele- 
brated jewel  called  the  "  Jew's-eye  "  diamond,  which 
his  lordship  always  wore  on  his  forefinger,  and  which  it 
was  said  that  she  removed  from  it  after  his  lamented 
demise.  But  his  confidential  friend  and  attendant,  Mon- 
sieur Fiche,  proved  that  the  ring  had  been  presented  to 
the  said  Madame  de  Belladonna  two  days  before  the 
Marquis's  death;  as  were  the  bank-notes,  jewels,  Nea- 
politan and  French  bonds,  &c.,  found  in  his  lordship's 
secretaire,  and  claimed  by  his  heirs  from  that  injured 
woman. 


CHAPTER   LXV 


FULL  OF  BUSINESS  AND  PLEASURE 

r^c5T3jj2jjijjij^  HE  (lay  after  the  meeting 
^  Uf  at  the  play-table,  Jos  had 
himself  arrayed  with  un- 
usual care  and  splendour, 
and  without  thinking  it 
necessary  to  sav  a  word  to 
any  member  of  his  family 
regarding  the  occurrences 
of  the  previous  night,  or 
asking  for  their  company 
in  his  walk,  he  sallied  forth 
at  an  early  hour,  and  was 
presently  seen  making  in- 
quiries at  the  door  of  the 
Elephant  Hotel.  In  consequence  of  the  fetes  the  house 
was  full  of  company,  the  tables  in  the  street  were  already 
surrounded  by  persons  smoking  and  drinking  the  na- 
tional small-beer,  the  public  rooms  were  in  a  cloud  of 
smoke,  and  ^Ir.  Jos  having,  in  his  pompous  way,  and 
with  his  clumsy  German,  made  inquiries  for  the  person 
of  whom  lie  was  in  search,  was  directed  to  the  very  top 
of  the  house,  above  the  first-floor  rooms  where  some 
travelling  pedlars  had  lived,  and  were  exhibiting  their 
jewellery  and  brocades;  alK)ve  the  second-floor  a])art- 
ments  occu])iefl  by  the  etat  major  of  tlie  gambling  firm; 
above  the  third-floor  rooms,  tenanted  by  the  band  of 


310 


VANITY  FAIR 


renowned  Bohemian  vaulters  and  tumblers;  and  so  on 
to  the  Httle  cabins  of  the  roof,  where,  among  students, 
bag-men,  small  tradesmen,  and  country-folks,  come  in 


for  the  festival,  Becky  had  found  a  little  nest;— as  dirty 
a  little  refuge  as  ever  beauty  lay  hid  in. 

Becky  liked  the  life.  She  was  at  home  with  every- 
body in  the  place,  pedlars,  punters,  tumblers,  students 
and  all.     She  was  of  a  wild,  roving  nature,  inherited 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO       311 

from  father  and  mother,  who  were  both  Bohemians,  by 
taste  and  circumstance;  if  a  lord  was  not  by,  she  would 
talk  to  his  courier  with  the  greatest  pleasure;  the  din, 
the  stir,  the  drink,  the  smoke,  the  tattle  of  the  Hebrew 
pedlars,  the  solenm,  braggart  ways  of  the  poor  tumblers, 
the  sournois  talk  of  the  gambling-table  officials,  the  songs 
and  swagger  of  the  students,  and  the  general  buzz  and 
hum  of  the  place  had  pleased  and  tickled  the  little 
woman,  even  when  her  luck  was  down,  and  she  had  not 
wherewithal  to  pay  her  bill.  How  pleasant  was  all  the 
bustle  to  her  now  that  her  purse  was  full  of  the  money 
which  little  Georgy  had  won  for  her  the  night  before ! 

As  Jos  came  creaking  and  puffing  up  the  final  stairs, 
and  was  speechless  when  he  got  to  the  landing,  and  be- 
gan to  wipe  his  face  and  then  to  look  for  No.  92,  the 
room  where  he  was  directed  to  seek  for  the  person  he 
wanted,  the  door  of  the  opposite  chamber.  No.  90,  M^as 
open,  and  a  student,  in  jack-boots  and  a  dirty  schla- 
f rock,  was  lying  on  the  bed  smoking  a  long  pipe ;  whilst 
another  student  in  long  yellow  hair  and  a  braided  coat, 
exceeding  smart  and  dirty  too,  was  actually  on  his  knees 
at  No.  92,  bawling  through  the  keyhole  supplications  to 
the  person  within. 

"  Go  away,"  said  a  well-known  voice,  which  made  Jos 
thrill,  "  I  expect  somebody;  I  expect  my  grandpapa. 
He  mustn't  see  you  there." 

"Angel  Engliinderinn!  "  bellowed  the  kneeling  stu- 
dent with  the  whity-brown  ringlets  and  the  large  finger- 
ring,  "  do  take  compassion  upon  us.  Make  an  appoint- 
ment. Dine  with  me  and  Fritz  at  the  inn  in  the  park. 
We  will  have  roast  ])heasants  and  ])orter,  pliim-|)udding 
and  French  wine.     W^e  shall  die  if  you  don't." 

"  That  we  will,"  said  the  young  nobleman  on  the  bed; 


312  VANITY  FAIR 

and  this  colloquy  Jos  overheard,  though  he  did  not  com- 
prehend it,  for  the  reason  that  he  had  never  studied  the 
language  in  which  it  was  carried  on. 

" Newmero  kattervangdooze,  si  vous  plait"  Jos  said 
in  his  grandest  manner,  when  he  was  able  to  speak. 

"  Quater  fang  tooce! "  said  the  student,  starting  up, 
and  he  bounced  into  his  own  room,  where  he  locked  the 
door,  and  where  Jos  heard  him  laughing  with  his  com- 
rade on  the  bed. 

The  gentleman  from  Bengal  was  standing  discon- 
certed by  this  incident,  when  the  door  of  No.  92  opened 
of  itself,  and  Becky's  little  head  peeped  out  full  of  arch- 
ness and  mischief.  She  lighted  on  Jos.  "  It's  you,"  she 
said,  coming  out.  "  How  I  have  been  waiting  for  you! 
Stop!  not  yet — in  one  minute  you  shall  come  in."  In 
that  instant  she  put  a  rouge-pot,  a  brandy-bottle,  and  a 
plate  of  broken  meat  into  the  bed,  gave  one  smooth  to 
her  hair,  and  finally  let  in  her  visitor. 

She  had,  by  way  of  morning  robe,  a  pink  domino,  a 
trifle  faded  and  soiled,  and  nlarked  here  and  there  with 
pomatum ;  but  her  arms  shone  out  from  the  loose  sleeves 
of  the  dress  very  white  and  fair,  and  it  was  tied  round 
her  little  waist,  so  as  not  ill  to  set  off  the  trim  little  figure 
of  the  wearer.  She  led  Jos  by  the  hand  into  her  garret. 
"  Come  in,"  she  said.  "  Come,  and  talk  to  me.  Sit  yon- 
der on  the  chair;  "  and  she  gave  the  civilian's  hand  a 
little  squeeze,  and  laughingly  placed  him  upon  it.  As 
for  herself,  she  placed  herself  on  the  bed— not  on  the 
bottle  and  plate,  you  may  be  sure — on  which  Jos  might 
have  reposed,  had  he  chosen  that  seat ;  and  so  there  she 
sate  and  talked  with  her  old  admirer. 

"  How  little  years  have  changed  you,"  she  said,  with 
a  look  of  tender  interest.     "  I  should  have  known  you 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO       313 

anywhere.  ^Vhat  a  comfort  it  is  amongst  strangers  to 
see  once  more  the  frank  honest  face  of  an  old  friend!  " 

The  frank  honest  face,  to  tell  the  truth,  at  this  mo- 
ment bore  any  expression  but  one  of  openness  and  hon- 
esty: it  was,  on  the  contrary,  much  perturbed  and 
puzzled  in  look.  Jos  was  surveying  the  queer  little 
apartment  in  which  he  found  his  old  flame.  One  of  her 
gowns  hung  over  the  bed,  another  depending  from  a 
hook  of  the  door :  her  bonnet  obscured  half  the  looking- 
glass,  on  which,  too,  lay  the  prettiest  little  pair  of  bronze 
Ijoots ;  a  French  novel  was  on  the  table  by  the  bed-side, 
with  a  candle,  not  of  wax.  Becky  thought  of  popping 
that  into  the  bed  too,  but  she  only  put  in  the  little  paper 
night-cap  with  which  she  had  put  the  candle  out  on 
going  to  sleep. 

"  I  should  have  known  you  anywhere,"  she  continued; 
"  a  woman  never  forgets  some  things.  And  you  were 
the  first  man  I  ever— I  ever  saw." 

"  Was  I,  really?  "  said  Jos.  "  God  bless  my  soul,  you 
— you  don't  say  so." 

"  AVhen  I  came  with  your  sister  from  Chiswick,  I  was 
scarcely  more  than  a  child,"  Becky  said.  "  How  is  that 
dear  love?  Oh,  her  husband  was  a  sad  wicked  man,  and 
of  course  it  was  of  me  that  the  poor  dear  was  jealous. 
As  if  1  cared  about  him,  heigho!  when  there  was  some- 
body—but no— don't  let  us  talk  of  old  times;  "  and  she 
passed  her  handkerchief  with  the  tattered  lace  across  her 
eyelids. 

"  Is  not  this  a  strange  place,"  she  continued,  "  for  a 
woman,  who  has  lived  in  a  very  different  world  too,  to 
be  found  in?  I  have  had  so  many  griefs  and  wrongs, 
.rc)se])h  Sedley,  I  have  been  made  to  suff'er  so  cruelly, 
that  I   all)  almost  made  mad  sometimes.     1  can't  stav 


314  VANITY  FAIR 

still  in  any  place,  but  wander  about  always  restless  and 
unhappy.  All  my  friends  have  been  false  to  me — all. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  an  honest  man  in  the  world. 
I  was  the  truest  wife  that  ever  lived,  though  I  married 
my  husband  out  of  pique,  because  somebody  else — but 
never  mind  that.  I  was  true,  and  he  trampled  upon  me. 
and  deserted  me.  I  was  the  fondest  mother.  I  had  but 
one  child,  one  darling,  one  hope,  one  joy,  which  I  held  to 
my  heart  with  a  mother's  affection,  which  was  my  life, 
my  prayer,  my — my  blessing;  and  they — they  tore  it 
from  me — tore  it  from  me ;  "  and  she  put  her  hand  to  her 
heart  with  a  passionate  gesture  of  despair,  burying  her 
face  for  a  moment  on  the  bed. 

The  brandy-bottle  inside  clinked  up  against  the  plate 
which  held  the  cold  sausage.  Both  were  moved,  no 
doubt,  by  the  exhibition  of  so  much  grief.  Max  and 
Fritz  were  at  the  door  listening  with  wonder  to  Mrs. 
Becky's  sobs  and  cries.  Jos,  too,  was  a  good  deal  fright- 
ened and  affected  at  seeing  his  old  flame  in  this  condi- 
tion. And  she  began,  forthwith,  to  tell  her  story — a 
tale  so  neat,  simple,  and  artless,  that  it  was  quite  evident 
from  hearing  her,  that  if  ever  there  was  a  white-robed 
angel  escaped  from  heaven  to  be  subject  to  the  infernal 
machinations  and  villany  of  fiends  here  below,  that  spot- 
less being— that  miserable  unsullied  martyr,  was  pres- 
ent on  the  bed  before  Jos — on  the  bed,  sitting  on  the 
brandy-bottle. 

They  had  a  very  long,  amicable,  and  confidential  talk 
there;  in  the  course  of  which  Jos  Sedley  was  somehow 
made  aware  (but  in  a  manner  that  did  not  in  the  least 
scare  or  offend  him)  that  Becky's  heart  had  first  learned 
to  beat  at  his  enchanting  presence:  that  George  Os- 
borne had  certainly  paid  an  unjustifiable  court  to  her. 


A  XOA  EL   WITHOUT   A   HERO        315 

which  might  account  for  AiiieHa's  jealousy,  and  their 
little  rupture;  hut  that  Becky  never  gave  the  least  en- 
couragement to  the  unfortunate  officer,  and  that  she  had 
never  ceased  to  think  ahout  Jos  from  the  very  first  day 
she  had  seen  him,  though,  of  course,  her  duties  as  a 
married  woman  were  paramount — duties  which  she  had 
always  preserved,  and  would,  to  her  dying  day,  or  until 
the  proverbially  had  climate  in  which  Colonel  Crawley 
was  living,  should  release  her  from  a  yoke  which  his 
cruelty  had  rendered  odious  to  her. 

Jos  went  away,  convinced  that  she  was  the  most  virtu- 
ous, as  she  was  one  of  the  most  fascinating  of  women, 
and  revolving  in  his  mind  all  sorts  of  benevolent  schemes 
for  her  welfare.  Her  persecutions  ought  to  be  ended: 
she  ought  to  return  to  the  society  of  which  she  was  an 
ornament.  He  would  see  what  ought  to  be  done.  She 
must  (|uit  that  place,  and  take  a  quiet  lodging.  Amelia 
must  come  and  see  her,  and  befriend  her.  He  would 
go  and  settle  about  it,  and  consult  with  the  Major.  She 
wept  tears  of  heartfelt  gratitude  as  she  parted  from  him, 
and  pressed  his  hand  as  the  gallant  stout  gentleman 
stooped  down  to  kiss  hers. 

So  Becky  bowed  Jos  out  of  her  little  garret  with  as 
much  grace  as  if  it  was  a  palace  of  which  she  did  the 
honours;  and  that  heavy  gentleman  having  disappeared 
down  the  stairs,  Hans  and  Fritz  came  out  of  their  hole, 
])i])e  in  moutli,  and  she  amused  herself  by  mimicking 
Jos  to  them  as  she  munclied  her  cold  l)read  and  sausage 
and  took  draughts  of  her  favourite  brandy-and-water. 

Jos  walked  over  to  Do])bin's  lodgings  witli  great  so- 
lemnity, and  there  imparted  to  liim  tlie  affecting  history 
witli  which  he  had  just  Ikcii  made  accjuainted,  n  Itliout, 
however,  mentioning  the  play-business  of  the  night  be- 


316  VANITY   FAIR 

fore.  And  the  two  gentlemen  were  laying  their  heads 
together,  and  consulting  as  to  the  best  means  of  being 
useful  to  Mrs.  Becky,  while  she  was  finishing  her  inter- 
rupted dejeuner  a  la  fourchette. 

How  was  it  that  she  had  come  to  that  little  town? 
How  was  it  that  she  had  no  friends  and  was  wandering 
about  alone?  Little  boys  at  school  are  taught  in  their 
earliest  Latin  book,  that  the  path  of  Avernus  is  very 
easy  of  descent.  Let  us  skip  over  the  interval  in  the 
history  of  her  downward  progress.  She  was  not  worse 
now  than  she  had  been  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity:  — 
only  a  little  down  on  her  luck. 

As  for  Mrs.  Amelia,  she  was  a  woman  of  such  a  soft 
and  foolish  disposition,  that  when  she  heard  of  anybody 
unhappy,  her  heart  straightway  melted  towards  the  suf- 
ferer; and  as  she  had  never  thought  or  done  anything 
mortally  guilty  herself,  she  had  not  that  abhorrence  for 
wickedness  which  distinguishes  moralists  much  more 
knowing.  If  she  spoiled  everybody  who  came  near  her 
with  kindness  and  compliments, — if  she  begged  pardon 
of  all  her  servants  for  troubling  them  to  answer  the  bell, 
—  if  she  apologised  to  a  shop-boy  who  showed  her  a  piece 
of  silk,  or  made  a  curtsey  to  a  street-sweeper,  with  a 
complimentary  remark  upon  the  elegant  state  of  his 
crossing — and  she  was  almost  capable  of  every  one  of 
these  follies — the  notion  that  an  old  acquaintance  was 
miserable  was  sure  to  soften  her  heart;  nor  would  she 
hear  of  anybody's  being  deservedly  unhappy.  A  world 
under  such  legislation  as  hers  would  not  be  a  very  orderly 
place  of  abode ;  but  there  are  not  many  women,  at  least 
not  of  the  rulers,  who  are  of  her  sort.  This  lady,  I 
believe,  would  have  abolished  all  gaols,  punishments, 
handcuffs,  whippings,  poverty,  sickness,  hunger,  in  the 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A   HERO       317 

world;  and  was  such  a  mean-spirited  creature,  that— we 
are  obliged  to  confess  it— she  could  even  forget  a  mortal 
injury. 

When  the  Major  heard  from  Jos  of  the  sentimental 
adventure  which  had  just  befallen  the  latter,  he  was  not, 
it  must  be  owned,  nearly  as  much  interested  as  the  gentle- 
man from  Bengal.  On  the  contrary,  his  excitement  was 
quite  the  reverse  from  a  pleasurable  one;  he  made  use 
of  a  brief  but  improper  expression  regarding  a  poor 
woman  in  distress,  saying,  in  fact,  —  "  the  little  minx,  has 
she  come  to  light  again?"  He  never  had  had  the  slightest 
liking  for  her;  but  had  heartily  mistrusted  her  from  the 
very  first  moment  when  her  green  eyes  had  looked  at, 
and  turned  away  from,  his  own. 

"  That  little  devil  brings  mischief  wherever  she  goes," 
the  iNIajor  said,  disrespectfully.  "  Who  knows  what 
sort  of  life  she  has  been  leading?  and  what  business  has 
she  here  abroad  and  alone  ?  Don't  tell  me  about  persecu- 
tors and  enemies ;  an  honest  woman  always  has  friends, 
and  never  is  separated  from  her  family.  Why  has  she 
left  her  husband?  He  may  have  been  disreputable  and 
wicked,  as  you  say.  He  always  was.  I  remember  the 
confounded  blackleg,  and  the  way  in  which  he  used  to 
cheat  and  hoodwink  p(X)r  George.  Wasn't  there  a  scan- 
dal about  their  separation?  I  tliink  I  heard  something," 
cried  out  Major  Dobbin,  who  did  not  care  much  about 
gossip;  and  v/hom  Jos  tried  in  vain  to  convince  that 
Mrs.  Becky  was  in  all  respects  a  most  injured  and  virtu- 
ous female. 

"  Well,  well ;  let's  ask  Mrs.  George,"  said  that  arch- 
diplomatist  of  a  Major.  "  Only  let  us  go  and  consult 
her.  I  suppose  you  will  allow  that  nhe  is  a  good  judge 
at  any  rate,  and  knows  what  is  right  in  such  matters." 


VOL.  m. 


li 


318  VANITY  FAIR 

"  H'ml  Emmy  is  very  well,"  said  Jos,  who  did  not 
happen  to  be  in  love  with  his  sister. 

"  Very  well?  by  Gad,  sir,  she's  the  finest  lady  I  ever 
met  in  my  life,"  bounced  out  the  Major.  "  I  say  at  once, 
let  us  go  and  ask  her  if  this  woman  ought  to  be  visited  or 
not — I  will  be  content  with  her  verdict."  Now  this  odi- 
ous, artful  rogue  of  a  Major  was  thinking  in  his  own 
mind  that  he  was  sure  of  his  case.  Emmy,  he  remem- 
bered, was  at  one  time  cruelly  and  deservedly  jealous 
of  Rebecca,  never  mentioned  her  name  but  with  a 
shrinking  and  terror — a  jealous  woman  never  for- 
gives, thought  Dobbin:  and  so  the  pair  went  across 
the  street  to  Mrs.  George's  house,  where  she  was  con- 
tentedly warbling  at  a  music-lesson  with  Madame 
Strumpff. 

When  that  lady  took  her  leave,  Jos  opened  the  busi- 
ness with  his  usual  pomj)  of  words.  "  Amelia,  my  dear," 
said  he,  "  I  have  just  had  the  most  extraordinary — yes 
— God  bless  my  soul!  the  most  extraordinary  adven- 
ture— an  old  friend — yes,  a  most  interesting  old  friend 
of  yours,  and  I  may  say  in  old  times,  has  just  arrived 
here,  and  I  should  like  you  to  see  her." 

"  Her!  "  said  Amelia,  "  who  is  it?  Major  Dobbin,  if 
you  please  not  to  break  my  scissors."  The  Major  was 
twirling  them  round  by  the  little  chain  from  which  they 
sometimes  hung  to  their  lady's  waist,  and  was  thereby 
endangering  his  own  eye. 

"  It  is  a  woman  whom  I  dislike  very  much,"  said  the 
Major,  doggedly;  "and  whom  you  have  no  cause  to 
love." 

"  It  is  Rebecca,  I'm  sure  it  is  Rebecca,"  Amelia  said, 
blushing,  and  being  very  much  agitated. 

"  You  are  right;   you  always  are,"  Dobbin  answered. 


A  NOVEL   AVITHOUT   A   HERO        319 

Brussels,  Waterloo,  old,  old  times,  griefs,  pangs,  re- 
membrances, rushed  back  into  Amelia's  gentle  heart,  and 
caused  a  cruel  agitation  there. 

"  Don't  let  me  see  her,"  Emmy  continued.  "  1 
couldn't  see  her." 

"  I  told  you  so,"  Dobbin  said  to  Jos. 

"  She  is  very  unhappy,  and— and  that  sort  of  thing," 
Jos  urged.  "  She  is  very  poor  and  unprotected:  and 
has  been  ill— exceedingly  ill— and  that  scoundrel  of  a 
husband  has  deserted  her." 

"  Ah !"  said  Amelia. 

"  She  hasn't  a  friend  in  the  world,"  Jos  went  on,  not 
undexterously ;  "and  she  said  she  thought  she  might 
trust  in  you.  She's  so  miserable,  Emmy.  She  has  been 
almost  mad  with  grief.  Her  story  quite  affected  me:  — 
'pon  my  word  and  honour,  it  did— never  was  such  a  cruel 
persecution  borne  so  angelically,  I  may  say.  Her  family 
has  been  most  cruel  to  her." 

"  Poor  creature !  "  Amelia  said. 

"  And  if  she  can  get  no  friend,  she  says  she  thinks 
she'll  die,"  Jos  proceeded,  in  a  low  tremulous  voice.— 
"  God  bless  my  soul!  do  you  know  that  she  tried  to  kill 
herself?  She  carries  laudanum  with  her— I  saw  the  bot- 
tle in  her  room— such  a  miserable  little  room— at  a  third- 
rate  house,  the  Elephant,  up  in  the  roof  at  the  top  of  all. 
I  went  there." 

This  did  not  seem  to  affect  Emmy.  She  even  smiled 
a  little.  Perhaps  she  figured  Jos  to  herself  panting  up 
the  stair. 

"  She's  beside  herself  with  grief,"  he  resumed.  /'  The 
agonies  that  woman  has  endured  are  quite  frightful  to 

hear  of.     She  had   a   Httle  boy,   of  the  same  age  as 

Ci  " 

reorgy. 


320  VANITY  FAIR 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  think  I  remember,"  Enmiy  remarked. 
"Well?" 

"  The  most  beautiful  child  ever  seen,"  Jos  said,  who 
was  very  fat,  and  easily  moved,  and  had  been  touched 
by  the  story  Becky  told;  "  a  perfect  angel,  who  adored 
his  mother.  The  ruffians  tore  him  shrieking  out  of  her 
arms,  and  have  never  allowed  him  to  see  her." 

"  Dear  Joseph,"  Emmy  cried  out,  starting  up  at  once, 
"  let  us  go  and  see  her  this  minute."  And  she  ran  into 
her  adjoining  bed-chamber,  tied  on  her  bonnet  in  a  flut- 
ter, came  out  with  her  shawl  on  her  arm,  and  ordered 
Dobbin  to  follow. 

He  went  and  put  her  shawl — it  was  a  white  Cashmere, 
consigned  to  her  by  the  Major  himself  from  India — 
over  her  shoulders.  He  saw  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  obey ;  and  she  put  her  hand  into  his  arm,  and  they 
went  away. 

"  It  is  number  92,  up  four  pair  of  stairs,"  Jos  said, 
perhaps  not  very  willing  to  ascend  the  steps  again ;  but 
he  placed  himself  in  the  window  of  his  drawing-room, 
\Vhich  commands  the  place  on  which  the  Elephant  stands, 
and  saw  the  pair  marching  through  the  market. 

It  was  as  well  that  Becky  saw  them  too  from  her  gar- 
ret; for  she  and  the  two  students  were  chattering  and 
laughing  there;  they  had  been  joking  about  the  appear- 
ance of  Becky's  grandpapa— whose  arrival  and  depar- 
ture they  had  witnessed — but  she  had  time  to  dismiss 
them,  and  have  her  little  room  clear  before  the  landlord 
of  the  Elephant,  who  knew  that  Mrs.  Osborne  was  a 
great  /avourite  at  the  Serene  Court,  and  respected  her 
accordingly,  led  the  way  up  the  stairs  to  the  roof -story, 
encouraging  Miladi  and  the  Herr  Major  as  they 
achieved  the  ascent. 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A   HERO        321 

"Gracious  lady,  gracious  lady!"  said  the  landlord, 
knocking  at  Becky's  door;  he  had  called  her  jNIadame 
the  day  before,  and  was  by  no  means  courteous  to  her. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  Becky  said,  putting  out  her  head,  and 
she  gave  a  little  scream.  There  stood  Emmy  in  a 
tremble,  and  Dobbin,  the  tall  Major,  with  his  cane. 

He  stood  still  watching,  and  very  much  interested  at 
the  scene;  but  Emmy  sprang  forward  with  open  arms 
towards  Rebecca,  and  forgave  her  at  that  moment,  and 
embraced  her  and  kissed  her  with  all  her  heart.  All, 
poor  wretch,  when  was  your  lip  pressed  before  by  such 
pure  kisses? 


CHAPTER   LXVI 


.'WWihW 


AMANTIUM  IR^ 

RANKNESS  and  kindness  like 
^.^  Amelia's  were  likely  to 
touch  even  such  a  hardened 
little  reprobate  as  Becky. 
She  returned  Emniy's  ca- 
resses and  kind  speeches 
with  something  very  like 
gratitude,  and  an  emotion 
which,  if  it  was  not  lasting, 
for  a  moment  was  almost 
genuine.  That  was  a  lucky 
^Jl^  stroke  of  hers  about  the 
iB-:  child  "  torn  from  her  arms 
shrieking."  It  was  bj''  that 
harrowing  misfortune  that 
Becky  had  won  her  friend 
back,  and  it  was  one  of  the 
very  first  points,  we  may  be  certain,  upon  which  our  poor 
simple  little  Emmy  began  to  talk  to  her  new-found  ac- 
quaintance. 

"  And  so  they  took  your  darling  child  from  you,"  our 
simpleton  cried  out.  "  Oh,  Rebecca,  my  poor  dear  suf- 
fering friend,  I  know  what  it  is  to  lose  a  boy,  and  to  feel 
for  those  who  have  lost  one.  But  please  Heaven  yours 
will  be  restored  to  you,  as  a  merciful  merciful  Provi- 
dence has  brought  me  back  mine." 

392 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO        ;328 

"  The  child,  my  child  t  Oh,  yes,  my  agonies  were 
frightful,"  Becky  owned,  not  perhaps  without  a  twinge 
of  conscience.  It  jarred  upon  her,  to  be  obliged  to 
commence  instantly  to  tell  lies  in  reply  to  so  much  con- 
fidence and  simplicity.  But  that  is  the  misfortune  of 
})eginning  with  this  kind  of  forgery.  When  one  fib  be- 
comes due  as  it  were,  you  must  forge  another  to  take  up 
the  old  acceptance;  and  so  the  stock  of  your  lies  in  cir- 
culation inevitably  multiplies,  and  the  danger  of  detec- 
tion increases  every  day. 

"  Mv  agonies,"  Becky  continued,  "were  terrible  (I 
hope  she  won't  sit  down  on  the  bottle)  when  they  took 
him  away  from  me ;  I  thought  I  should  die ;  but  I  fortu- 
nately had  a  brain  fever,  during  which  my  doctor  gave 
me  up,  and — and  I  recovered,  and — and  here  I  am  poor 
and  friendless." 

"  How  old  is  he?  "  Emmy  asked. 

"  Eleven,"  said  Becky. 

"  Eleven!  "  cried  the  other.  "  Why,  he  was  born  the 
same  year  with  Georgy,  who  is — " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  Becky  cried  out,  who  had  in  fact 
<|uite  forgotten  all  about  little  Rawdon's  age.  "  Grief 
lias  made  me  forget  so  many  things,  dearest  Amelia.  I 
am  very  much  changed:  half  wild  sometimes.  He  was 
eleven  when  they  took  him  away  from  me.  Bless  his 
sweet  face;  I  have  never  seen  it  again." 

"Was  he  fair  or  dark?"  went  on  that  absurd  little 
Kmmy.     "  Show  me  his  hair." 

Becky  almost  lauglied  at  her  simplicity.  "  Not  to- 
day, love, — some  other  time,  when  my  trunks  arrive 
from  Eeipsic,  whence  I  came  to  this  place,  — and  a  little 
drawing  of  hini,  whicli  I  made  in  happy  days." 

"Poor   liecky,   |)o()r   Hccky!"  said    Kmmy.      "How 


32J-  VANITY  FAIR 

thankful,  how  thankful  I  ought  to  be!"  (though  I 
doubt  whether  that  practice  of  piety  inculcated  upon  us 
by  our  womankind  in  early  youth,  namely,  to  be  thank- 
ful because  we  are  better  off  than  somebody  else,  be  a 
very  rational  religious  exercise;)  and  then  she  began  to 
think  as  usual,  how  hex  son  was  the  handsomest,  the  best, 
and  the  cleverest  boy  in  the  whole  world. 

"  You  will  see  my  Georgy,"  was  the  best  thing  Emmy 
could  think  of  to  console  Becky.  If  anything  could 
make  her  comfortable  that  would. 

And  so  the  two  women  continued  talking  for  an  hour 
or  more,  during  which  Becky  had  the  opportunity  of 
giving  her  new  friend  a  full  and  complete  version  of  her 
private  history.  She  showed  how  her  marriage  with 
Rawdon  Crawley  had  always  been  viewed  by  the  family 
with  feelings  of  the  utmost  hostility;  how  her  sister-in- 
law  (an  artful  woman)  had  poisoned  her  husband's 
mind  against  her;  how  he  had  formed  odious  connec- 
tions, which  had  estranged  his  aiFections  from  her:  how 
she  had  borne  everything — poverty,  neglect,  coldness 
from  the  being  whom  she  most  loved — and  all  for  the 
sake  of  her  child ;  how,  finally,  and  by  the  most  flagrant 
outrage,  she  had  been  driven  into  demanding  a  separa- 
tion from  her  husband,  when  the  wretch  did  not  scru- 
ple to  ask  that  she  should  sacrifice  her  own  fair  fame 
so  that  he  might  procure  advancement  through  the 
means  of  a  very  great  and  powerful  but  unprincipled 
man — the  Marquis  of  Steyne,  indeed.  The  atrocious 
monster ! 

This  part  of  her  eventful  history  Becky  gave  with  the 
utmost  feminine  delicacy,  and  the  most  indignant  virtue. 
Forced  to  fly  her  husband's  roof  by  this  insult,  the 
coward  had  pursued  his  revenge  by  taking  her  child 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT     A  HERO        325 

from  her.  And  thus  Becky  said  she  was  a  wanderer, 
poor,  unprotected,  friendless,  and  wretched. 

Emniv  received  this  storv,  which  was  told  at  some 
length,  as  those  persons  who  are  acquainted  with  her 
character  may  imagine  that  she  would.  She  quivered 
with  indignation  at  the  account  of  the  conduct  of  the 
miserable  Rawdon  and  the  unprincipled  Steyne.  Her 
eyes  made  notes  of  admiration  for  every  one  of  the  sen- 
tences in  which  Becky  described  the  persecutions  of  her 
aristocratic  relatives,  and  the  falling  away  of  her  hus- 
band. (Becky  did  not  abuse  him.  She  spoke  rather  in 
sorrow  than  in  anger.  She  had  loved  him  only  too 
fondly:  and  was  he  not  the  father  of  her  boy?)  And 
as  for  the  separation-scene  from  the  child,  while  Becky 
was  reciting  it,  Emmy  retired  altogether  behind  her 
pocket-handkerchief,  so  that  the  consummate  little  tra- 
gedian must  have  been  charmed  to  see  the  effect  which 
her  performance  produced  on  her  audience. 

Whilst  the  ladies  were  carrying  on  their  conversation, 
Amelia's  constant  escort,  the  INIajor  (who,  of  course, 
did  not  wish  to  interrupt  their  conference,  and  found 
himself  rather  tired  of  creaking  about  the  narrow  stair 
passage  of  which  the  roof  brushed  the  nap  from  his 
hat),  descended  to  the  ground-floor  of  the  house  and 
into  the  great  room  common  to  all  the  frequenters  of 
the  Elepliant,  out  of  which  the  stair  led.  This  apart- 
ment is  always  in  a  fume  of  smoke,  and  liberally  s])rin- 
kled  with  l^eer.  On  a  dirty  table  stand  scores  of  corre- 
sponding brass-candlesticks  with  tallow  candles  for  the 
lodgers,  whose  keys  luing  up  in  rows  over  the  candles. 
Emmy  had  passed  blushing  tlu'ough  the  room  anon, 
where  all  sorts  of  ])eople  were  collected;  Tyrolese 
glove-sellers  and  Danul)ian  linen-mercliants,  with  their 


326  VANITY  FAIR 

packs;  students  recruiting  themselves  with  butterbrods 
and  meat;  idlers,  playing  cards  or  dominoes  on  the 
sloppy,  beery  tables ;  tumblers  refreshing  during  the  ces- 
sation of  their  performances; — in  a  word,  all  the  fumum 
and  strepitus  of  a  German  inn  in  fair  time.  The  waiter 
brought  the  Major  a  mug  of  beer,  as  a  matter  of  course; 
and  he  took  out  a  cigar,  and  amused  himself  with  that 
pernicious  vegetable  and  a  newspaper  until  his  charge 
should  come  down  to  claim  him. 

Max  and  Fritz  came  presently  down  stairs,  their  caps 
on  one  side,  their  spurs  jingling,  their  pipes  splendid 
with  coats-of-arms  and  full-blown  tassels,  and  they 
hung  up  the  key  of  No.  90  on  the  board,  and  called  for 
the  ration  of  butterbrod  and  beer.  The  pair  sate  down 
by  the  Major,  and  fell  into  a  conversation  of  which  he 
could  not  help  hearing  somewhat.  It  was  mainly  about 
"  Fuchs "  and  "  Philister,"  and  duels  and  drinking- 
bouts  at  the  neighbouring  University  of  Schoppen- 
hausen,  from  which  renowned  seat  of  learning  they  had 
just  come  in  the  Eilwagen,  with  Becky,  as  it  appeared, 
by  their  side,  and  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  bridal 
fetes  at  Pumpernickel. 

"  The  little  Englanderinn  seems  to  be  en  hays  de  gon- 
noissance,"  said  Max,  who  knew  the  French  language, 
to  Fritz,  his  comrade.  "  After  the  fat  grandfather  went 
away,  there  came  a  pretty  little  compatriot.  I  heard 
them  chattering  and  whimpering  together  in  the  little 
woman's  chamber." 

"  We  must  take  the  tickets  for  her  concert,"  Fritz 
said.     "  Hast  thou  any  money,  Max?  " 

"  Bah,"  said  the  other,  "  the  concert  is  a  concert  in 
nuhibus.  Hans  said  that  she  advertised  one  at  Leipzig: 
and  the  Burschen  took  many  tickets.     But  she  went  off 


A   NOVEL   ^VlTHOUT   A   HERO 


:V2' 


without  singing.  She  said  in  the  coach  yesterday  that 
her  pianist  had  fallen  ill  at  Dresden.  She  cannot  sing, 
it  is  mv  belief:  her  voice  is  as  cracked  as  thine,  O  thou 


beer-soaking  Renowner!" 


"  It  is  cracked;  /  heard  her  trying  out  of  her  window 
a  schrecklich  English  ballad,  called  '  De  Rose  upon  de 
Balgony.'  " 

"  Saufen  and  singen  go  not  together,"  observed  Fritz 
uith  the  red  nose,  who  evidently  preferred  the  former 
amusement.  "  No,  thou  shalt  take  none  of  her  tickets. 
She  won  money  at  the  trente  and  quarantc  last  night. 
I  saw  her:  she  made  a  little  English  boy  j)lay  for  her. 
We  will  si)eFid  thy  money  there  or  at  the  theatre,  or  we 

I  •  • 

will  tieat  her  to  French  wine  or  cognac  in  tlie  Aurelius 


328  VANITY  FAIR 

Garden,  but  the  tickets  we  will  not  buy.  What  sayest 
thou?  Yet,  another  mug  of  beer?  "  and  one  and  another 
successively  having  buried  their  blond  whiskers  in  the 
mawkish  draught,  curled  them  and  swaggered  off  into 
the  fair. 

The  Major,  who  had  seen  the  key  of  No.  90  put  up 
on  its  hook,  and  had  heard  the  conversation  of  the  two 
young  university  bloods,  was  not  at  a  loss  to  understand 
that  their  talk  related  to  Becky.  "  The  little  devil  is  at 
her  old  tricks,"  he  thought,  and  he  smiled  as  he  recalled 
old  days,  when  he  had  witnessed  the  desperate  flirtation 
with  Jos,  and  the  ludicrous  end  of  that  adventure.  He 
and  George  had  often  laughed  over  it  subsequently,  and 
until  a  few  weeks  after  George's  marriage,  when  he  also 
was  caught  in  the  little  Circe's  toils,  and  had  an  under- 
standing with  her  which  his  comrade  certainly  suspected, 
but  preferred  to  ignore.  William  was  too  much  hurt 
or  ashamed  to  ask  to  fathom  that  disgraceful  mystery, 
although  once,  and  evidently  with  remorse  on  his  mind, 
George  had  alluded  to  it.  It  was  on  the  morning  of 
Waterloo,  as  the  young  men  stood  together  in  front  of 
their  line,  surveying  the  black  masses  of  Frenchmen  who 
crowned  the  opposite  heights,  and  as  the  rain  was  com- 
ing down,  "  I  have  been  mixing  in  a  foolish  intrigue 
with  a  woman,"  George  said.  "  I  am  glad  we  were 
marched  away.  If  I  drop,  I  hope  Emmy  will  never 
know  of  that  business.  I  wish  to  God  it  had  never  been 
begun!  "  And  William  was  pleased  to  think,  and  had 
more  than  once  soothed  poor  George's  widow  with  the 
narrative,  that  Osborne,  after  quitting  his  wife,  and 
after  the  action  of  Quatre  Bras,  on  the  first  day,  spoke 
gravely  and  affectionately  to  his  comrade  of  his  father 
and  his  wife.    On  these  facts,  too,  William  had  insisted 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT  A   HERO        329 

< 

very  strongly  in  his  conversations  with  the  elder  Os- 
borne: and  had  thus  been  the  means  of  reconciling  the 
old  gentleman  to  his  son's  memory,  just  at  the  close  of 
the  elder  man's  life. 

"  And  so  this  devil  is  still  going  on  with  her  in- 
trigues," thought  William.  "  I  wish  slie  were  a  hundred 
miles  from  here.  She  brings  mischief  wherever  she 
goes."  And  he  was  pursuing  these  forebodings  and  this 
uncomfortable  train  of  thought,  with  his  head  between 
his  hands,  and  the  "  Pumpernickel  Gazette  "  of  last 
week  unread  under  his  nose,  when  somebody  tapped  his 
shoulder  with  a  parasol,  and  he  looked  up  and  saw  Mrs. 
Amelia. 

This  woman  had  a  way  of  tyrannising  over  Major 
Dobbin  (for  the  weakest  of  all  people  will  domineer 
over  somebody ) ,  and  she  ordered  him  about,  and  patted 
him,  and  made  him  fetch  and  carry  just  as  if  he  was  a 
great  Newfoundland  dog.  He  liked,  so  to  speak,  to 
jump  into  the  water  if  she  said  "  High,  Dobbin!  "  and 
to  trot  behind  her  with  her  reticule  in  his  mouth. 
This  history  has  been  written  to  very  little  purpose 
if  the  reader  has  not  perceived  that  the  ^lajor  was  a 
spooney. 

"  Why  did  you  not  wait  for  me,  sir,  to  escort  me  down 
stairs?  "  she  said,  giving  a  little  toss  of  her  head,  and  a 
most  sarcastic  curtsev. 

"  I  couldn't  stand  up  in  the  passage,"  he  answered, 
with  a  comical  deprecatory  look;  and,  delighted  to  give 
her  his  arm,  and  to  take  her  out  of  the  horrid  smoky 
place,  he  would  have  walked  oif  without  even  so  much 
as  remembering  the  waiter,  had  not  the  young  fellow 
run  after  him  and  stopped  him  on  the  threshold  of  the 
Elephant,  to  make  liim  pay  for  the  beer  which  he  had 


330  VANITY  FAIR 

not  consumed.  Emmy  laughed:  she  called  him  a 
naughty  man,  who  wanted  to  run  away  in  debt :  and,  in 
fact,  made  some  jokes  suitable  to  the  occasion  and  the 
small-beer.  She  was  in  high  spirits  and  good  humour, 
and  tripped  across  the  market-place  very  briskly.  She 
wanted  to  see  Jos  that  instant.  The  Major  laughed  at 
the  impetuous  affection  Mrs.  Amelia  exhibited;  for,  in 
truth,  it  was  not  very  often  that  she  wanted  her  brother 
"  that  instant." 

They  found  the  Civilian  in  his  saloon  on  the  first- 
floor;  he  had  been  pacing  the  room,  and  biting  his  nails, 
and  looking  over  the  market-place  towards  the  Elephant 
a  hundred  times  at  least  during  the  past  hour,  whilst 
Emmy  was  closeted  with  her  friend  in  the  garret,  and 
the  Major  was  beating  the  tattoo  on  the  sloppy  tables 
of  the  public  room  below,  and  he  was,  on  his  side  too, 
very  anxious  to  see  JNIrs.  Osborne. 

"Well?"  said  he. 

"The  poor  dear  creature,  how  she  has  suffered!" 
Emmy  said. 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  yes,"  Jos  said,  wagging  his  head, 
so  that  his  cheeks  quivered  like  jellies. 

"  She  may  have  Payne's  room;  who  can  go  up  stairs," 
Emmy  continued.  Payne  was  a  staid  English  maid  and 
personal  attendant  upon  Mrs.  Osborne,  to  whom  the 
courier,  as  in  duty  bound,  paid  court,  and  whom  Georgy 
used  to  "  lark "  dreadfully  with  accounts  of  German 
robbers  and  ghosts.  She  passed  her  time  chiefly  in 
grumbling,  in  ordering  about  her  mistress,  and  in  stat- 
ing her  intention  to  return  the  next  morning  to  her  na- 
tive village  of  Clapham.  "  She  may  have  Payne's 
room,"  Emmy  said. 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  going  to  have 


A  XOVEL   WITHOUT  A  HERO        331 

that  woman  into  the  house?  "  bounced  out  the  Major, 
jumping  up. 

"  Of  course  we  are,"  said  Amelia  in  the  most  innocent 
way  in  the  world.  "  Don't  be  angry,  and  break  the  fur- 
niture, iSIajor  Dobbin.  Of  course  we  are  going  to  have 
lier  here." 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,"  Jos  said. 

"  The  poor  creature,  after  all  her  sufferings,"  Emmy 
continued:  "her  horrid  banker  broken  and  run  away: 
her  husband — wicked  wretch — having  deserted  her  and 
taken  her  child  away  from  her  (here  she  doubled  her 
two  little  fists  and  held  them  in  a  most  menacing  atti- 
tude before  her,  so  that  the  JNIajor  was  charmed  to  see 
such  a  dauntless  virago),  the  poor  dear  thing!  quite 
alone  and  absolutely  forced  to  give  lessons  in  singing  to 
get  her  bread — and  not  have  her  here!  " 

"  Take  lessons,  my  dear  Mrs.  George,"  cried  the  Ma- 
jor, "  but  don't  have  her  in  the  house.  I  implore  you 
don't." 

"  Pooh,"  said  Jos. 

"  You  who  are  always  good  and  kind:  always  used  to 
be  at  any  rate:  I'm  astonished  at  you.  Major  William," 
Amelia  cried.  "  Why,  what  is  the  moment  to  help  her 
but  when  she  is  so  miserable?  Now  is  the  time  to  be  of 
service  to  her.    The  oldest  friend  I  ever  had,  and  not — " 

"  She  was  not  always  your  friend,  Amelia,"  the  Ma- 
jor said,  for  he  was  quite  angry.  This  allusion  was  too 
much  for  Emmy,  who,  looking  the  Major  almost 
fiercely  in  the  face,  said,  "  For  shame,  iNIajor  Dobbin!  " 
and  after  having  fired  this  shot,  she  walked  out  of  the 
room  with  a  most  majestic  air,  and  shut  lier  own  door 
briskly  on  herself  and  her  outraged  dignity. 

"To  alhidc  to  that!"  she  said,   wlien   the  door  was 


332  VANITY  FAIR 

closed.  "  Oh,  it  was  cruel  of  him  to  remind  me  of  it," 
and  she  looked  up  at  George's  picture,  which  hung  there 
as  usual,  with  the  portrait  of  the  boy  underneath.  "  It 
was  cruel  of  him.  If  I  had  forgiven  it,  ought  he  to  have 
spoken?  No.  And  it  is  from  his  own  lips  that  I  know 
how  wicked  and  groundless  my  jealousy  was;  and  that 
you  were  pure — Oh  yes,  you  were  pure,  my  saint  in 
heaven! " 

She  paced  the  room  trembling  and  indignant.  She 
went  and  leaned  on  the  chest  of  drawers  over  which  the 
picture  hung,  and  gazed  and  gazed  at  it.  Its  eyes 
seemed  to  look  down  on  her  with  a  reproach  that  deep- 
ened as  she  looked.  The  early  dear,  dear  memories  of 
that  brief  prime  of  love  rushed  back  upon  her.  The 
wound  which  years  had  scarcely  cicatrised  bled  afresh, 
and  oh,  how  bitterly !  She  could  not  bear  the  reproaches 
of  the  husband  there  before  her.  It  couldn't  be.  Never, 
never. 

Poor  Dobbin ;  poor  old  William !  That  unlucky  word 
had  undone  the  work  of  many  a  year — the  long  labori- 
ous edifice  of  a  life  of  love  and  constancy— raised  too 
upon  what  secret  and  hidden  foundations,  wherein  lay 
buried  passions,  uncounted  struggles,  unknown  sacri- 
fices— a  little  word  was  spoken,  and  down  fell  the  fair 
palace  of  hope — one  word,  and  away  flew  the  bird  which 
he  had  been  trying  all  his  life  to  lure ! 

William,  though  he  saw  by  Amelia's  looks  that  a 
great  crisis  had  come,  nevertheless  continued  to  implore 
Sedley,  in  the  most  energetic  terms,  to  beware  of  Re- 
becca: and  he  eagerly,  almost  frantically,  adjured  Jos 
not  to  receive  her.  He  besought  Mr.  Sedley  to  inquire 
at  least  regarding  her:  told  him  how  he  had  heard  that 
she  was  in  the  company  of  gamblers  and  people  of  ill 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO        333 

repute;  pointed  out  what  evil  she  had  done  in  former 
days :  how  she  and  Crawley  had  misled  poor  George  into 
ruin :  how  she  was  now  parted  from  her  husband,  by  her 
own  confession,  and,  perhaps,  for  good  reason.  What 
a  dangerous  companion  she  would  be  for  his  sister,  who 
knew  nothing  of  the  affairs  of  the  world!  William  im- 
plored Jos,  with  all  the  eloquence  which  he  could  bring 
to  bear,  and  a  great  deal  more  energy  than  this  quiet 
gentleman  was  ordinarily  in  the  habit  of  showing,  to 
keep  Rebecca  out  of  his  household. 

Had  he  been  less  violent,  or  more  dexterous,  he  might 
have  succeeded  in  his  supplications  to  Jos;  but  the  Ci- 
vilian was  not  a  little  jealous  of  the  airs  of  superiority 
which  the  ^lajor  constantly  exhibited  towards  him,  as 
he  fancied  (indeed,  he  had  imparted  his  opinions  to  Mr. 
Kirsch,  the  courier,  whose  bills  jNIajor  Dobbin  checked 
on  this  journey,  and  who  sided  with  his  master),  and 
he  began  a  blustering  speech  about  his  competency  to 
defend  his  own  honour,  his  desire  not  to  have  his  affairs 
meddled  with,  his  intention,  in  fine,  to  rebel  against  the 
Major,  when  the  colloquy — rather  a  long  and  stormy 
one — was  put  an  end  to  in  the  simplest  way  possible, 
namely,  by  the  arrival  of  JMrs.  Becky,  with  a  porter 
from  the  Elephant  Hotel,  in  charge  of  her  very  meagre 
baggage. 

She  greeted  her  host  with  affectionate  respect,  and 
made  a  shrinking,  but  amicable,  salutation  to  INIajor 
Dobbin,  who,  as  her  instinct  assured  her  at  once,  was  her 
enemy,  and  liad  been  speaking  against  her;  and  the 
bustle  and  clatter  consequent  upon  her  arrival  brought 
Amelia  out  of  her  room.  Emmy  went  up  and  em- 
braced her  guest  witli  the  greatest  warmth,  and  took  no 
notice  of  the  INIajor,  except  to  fling  him  an  angry  look— 

VOL.  111. 


334  VANITY  FAIR 

the  most  unjust  and  scornful  glance  that  had  perhaps 
ever  appeared  in  that  poor  little  woman's  face  since  she 
was  born.  But  she  had  private  reasons  of  her  own,  and 
was  bent  upon  being  angry  with  him.  And  Dobbin, 
indignant  at  the  injustice,  not  at  the  defeat,  went  off, 
making  her  a  bow  quite  as  haughty  as  the  killing  curtsey 
with  which  the  little  woman  chose  to  bid  him  farewell. 

He  being  gone,  EfUimy  was  particularly  lively  and  af- 
fectionate to  Rebecca,  and  bustled  about  the  apartments 
and  installed  her  guest  in  her  room  with  an  eagerness 
and  activity  seldom  exhibited  by  our  placid  little  friend. 
But  when  an  act  of  injustice  is  to  be  done,  especially  by 
weak  people,  it  is  best  that  it  should  be  done  quickly; 
and  Emmy  thought  she  was  displaying  a  great  deal  of 
firmness  and  proper  feeling  and  veneration  for  the  late 
Captain  Osborne  in  her  present  behaviour. 

Georgy  came  in  from  the  fetes  for  dinner-time,  and 
found  four  covers  laid  as  usual;  but  one  of  the  places 
was  occupied  by  a  lady,  instead  of  b}^  ]Major  Dobbin. 
"Hullo!  where's  Dob?"  the  young  gentleman  asked, 
with  his  usual  simplicity  of  language.  "  JNIajor  Dobbin 
is  dining  out,  I  suppose,"  his  mother  said;  and,  drawing 
the  boy  to  her,  kissed  him  a  great  deal,  and  put  his  hair 
off  his  forehead,  and  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Crawley. 
"  This  is  my  boy,  Rebecca,"  INIrs.  Osborne  said — as 
much  as  to  say — can  the  world  produce  anything  like 
that?  Becky  looked  at  him  with  rapture,  and  pressed 
his  hand  fondly.  "Dear  boy!"  she  said — "he  is  just 
like  my — "  Emotion  choked  her  further  utterance; 
but  Amelia  understood,  as  well  as  if  she  had  spoken, 
that  Becky  was  thinking  of  her  own  blessed  child. 
However,  the  company  of  her  friend  consoled  JNIrs. 
Crawley,  and  she  ate  a  very  good  dinner. 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT  A  HERO        335 

During  the  repast,  she  had  occasion  to  speak  several 
times,  when  Georgy  eyed  her  and  hstened  to  her.  At 
the  dessert  Emmy  was  gone  out  to  superintend  further 
domestic  arrangements:  Jos  was  in  his  great  chair  doz- 
ing over  Galignani:  Georgy  and  the  new  arrival  sat 
close  to  each  other:  he  had  continued  to  look  at  her 
knowingly  more  than  once,  and  at  last,  he  laid  down  the 
nut-crackers. 

"  I  say,"  said  Georgy. 

"  What  do  you  say?  "  Becky  said,  laughing. 

"  You're  the  lady  I  saw  in  the  mask  at  the  Rouge  et 

ojr. 

"  Hush!  you  little  sly  creature,"  Beck)^  said,  taking 
up  his  hand  and  kissing  it.  "  Your  uncle  was  there  too, 
and  mamma  mustn't  know." 

"  Oh  no — not  by  no  means,"  answered  the  little 
fellow. 

"  You  see  we  are  quite  good  friends  already,"  Becky 
said  to  Emmy,  who  now  re-entered;  and  it  must  be 
owned  that  jNIrs.  Osborne  had  introduced  a  most  judi- 
cious and  amiable  companion  into  her  house. 

William,  in  a  state  of  great  indignation,  though  still 
unaware  of  all  the  treason  that  was  in  store  for  him, 
walked  about  the  town  wildly  until  he  fell  upon  the  Sec- 
retary of  Legation,  Tapeworm,  who  invited  him  to 
dinner.  As  they  were  discussing  that  meal,  he  took  oc- 
casion to  ask  the  Secretary  whether  lie  knew  anytliing 
about  a  certain  INIrs.  Rawdon  Crawley,  who  had,  he  be- 
lieved, made  some  noise  in  London;  and  then  Tape- 
worm, who  of  course  knew  all  the  T^ondon  gossip,  and 
was  besides  a  relative  of  Lady  Gaunt,  ])oure(l  out  into 
the  astonished  iSlajor's  ears  such  a  history  about  Becky 


336  VANITY  FAIR 

and  her  husband  as  astonished  the  querist,  and  supphed 
all  the  points  of  this  narrative,  for  it  was  at  that  very 
table  years  ago  that  the  present  writer  had  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  the  tale.  Tufto,  Steyne,  the  Crawleys,  and 
their  history — everything  connected  with  Becky  and  her 
previous  life  passed  under  the  record  of  the  bitter  diplo- 
matist. He  knew  everything  and  a  great  deal  besides, 
about  all  the  world; — in  a  word,  he  made  the  most  as- 
tounding revelations  to  the  simple-hearted  Major. 
When  Dobbin  said  that  Mrs.  Osborne  and  Mr.  Sedley 
had  taken  her  into  their  house,  Tapeworm  burst  into  a 
peal  of  laughter  which  shocked  the  INIajor,  and  asked  if 
they  had  not  better  send  into  the  prison,  and  take  in  one 
or  two  of  the  gentlemen  in  shaved  heads  and  yellow 
jackets,  who  swept  the  streets  of  Pumpernickel,  chained 
in  pairs,  to  board  and  lodge,  and  act  as  tutor  to  that  little 
scapegrace  Georgy. 

This  information  astonished  and  horrified  the  INIajor 
not  a  little.  It  had  been  agreed  in  the  morning  (before 
meeting  with  Rebecca)  that  Amelia  should  go  to  the 
Court  ball  that  night.  There  would  be  the  place  where 
he  should  tell  her.  The  Major  went  home  and  dressed 
himself  in  his  uniform,  and  repaired  to  Court,  in  hopes 
to  see  Mrs.  Osborne.  She  never  came.  When  he  re- 
turned to  his  lodgings  all  the  lights  in  the  Sedley  tene- 
ment were  put  out.  He  could  not  see  her  till  the  morn- 
ing. I  don't  know  what  sort  of  a  night's  rest  he  had 
with  this  frightful  secret  in  bed  with  him. 

At  the  earliest  convenient  hour  in  the  morning  he 
sent  his  servant  across  the  way  with  a  note,  saying,  that 
he  wished  very  particularly  to  speak  with  her.  A 
message  came  back  to  say,  that  Mrs.  Osborne  was  ex- 
ceedingly unwell,  and  was  keeping  her  room. 


A  XOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO        .337 

She,  too,  had  been  awake  all  that  night.  She  had 
been  thinking  of  a  thing  which  had  agitated  her  mind 
a  hundred  times  before.  A  hundred  times  on  the  point 
of  yielding,  she  had  shrunk  back  from  a  sacrifice  which 
she  felt  was  too  much  for  her.  She  couldn't,  in  spite  of 
his  love  and  constancy,  and  her  own  acknowledged  re- 
gard, respect,  and  gratitude.  What  are  benefits,  what 
is  constancy,  or  merit  ?  One  curl  of  a  girl's  ringlet,  one 
hair  of  a  whisker,  will  turn  the  scale  against  them  all  in 
a  minute.  They  did  not  weigh  with  Emmy  more  than 
with  other  women.  She  had  tried  them ;  wanted  to  make 
them  pass;  could  not;  and  the  pitiless  little  woman  had 
found  a  pretext,  and  determined  to  be  free. 

When  at  length,  in  the  afternoon,  the  INIajor  gained 
admission  to  Amelia,  instead  of  the  cordial  and  afFec- 
:  tionate  greeting,  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  now 

for  many  a  long  day,  he  received  the  salutation  of  a 
curtsey,  and  of  a  little  gloved  hand,  retracted  the  mo- 
ment after  it  was  accorded  to  him. 

Rebecca,  too,  was  in  the  room,  and  advanced  to  meet 
him  with  a  smile  and  an  extended  hand.  Dobbin  drew 
back  rather  confusedl3^  "  I  — I  beg  your  pardon, 
ma'am,"  he  said;  "  but  I  am  boimd  to  tell  you  that  it  is 
not  as  your  friend  that  I  am  come  here  now." 

"  Pooh!  damn;  don't  let  us  have  this  sort  of  thing!  " 
Jos  cried  out,  alarmed,  and  anxious  to  get  rid  of  a  scene. 

"  I  wonder  what  Major  Dobbin  has  to  say  against 
Rebecca?  "  Amelia  said  in  a  low,  clear  voice  with  a  slight 
quiver  in  it,  and  a  very  determined  look  about  the 
eyes. 

"  I  will  not  have  this  sort  of  thing  in  my  liouse,"  Jos 
again  interposed.  "  I  say  I  will  not  have  it:  and  Dob- 
bin, I  ])eg,  sir,  you'll  stop  it."     And  lie  looked  round 


338  VANITY  FAIR 

trembling  and  turning  very  red,  and  gave  a  great  pufF, 
and  made  for  his  door. 

"  Dear  friend!  "  Rebecca  said  with  angeHc  sweetness, 
"  do  hear  what  Major  Dobbin  has  to  say  against 
me. 

"  I  will  not  hear  it,  I  say,"  squeaked  out  Jos  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  and,  gathering  up  his  dressing-gown, 
he  was  gone. 

"  We  are  only  two  women,"  Amelia  said.  "  You  can 
speak  now,  sir." 

"  This  manner  towards  me  is  one  which  scarcel}^  be- 
comes you,  Amelia,"  the  JNIajor  answered  haughtilj^; 
"  nor  I  believe  am  I  guilty  of  habitual  harshness  to 
women.  It  is  not  a  pleasure  to  me  to  do  the  duty  which 
I  am  come  to  do." 

"  Pray  proceed  with  it  quickly,  if  you  please,  INIajor 
Dobbin,"  said  Amelia,  who  was  more  and  more  in  a  pet. 
The  expression  of  Dobbin's  face,  as  she  spoke  in  this 
imperious  manner,  was  not  pleasant. 

"  I  came  to  say — and  as  you  stay,  jNIrs.  Crawley,  I 
must  say  it  in  your  presence — that  I  think  you — you 
ought  not  to  form  a  member  of  the  family  of  my 
friends.  A  lady  who  is  separated  from  her  husband, 
who  travels  not  under  her  own  name,  who  frequents 
public  gaming-tables — " 

"  It  was  to  the  ball  I  went,"  cried  out  Becky. 

" — is  not  a  fit  companion  for  ^Nlrs.  Osborne  and  her 
son,"  Dobbin  went  on:  "  and  I  may  add  that  there  are 
people  here  who  know  you,  and  who  profess  to  know 
that  regarding  your  conduct,  about  which  I  don't  even 
wish  to  speak  before — before  INIrs.  Osborne." 

"  Yours  is  a  very  modest  and  convenient  sort  of  cal- 
umny, Major  Dobbin,"  Rebecca  said.     "  You  leave  me 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO        339 

under  the  weight  of  an  accusation  which,  after  all,  is 
unsaid.  What  is  it?  Is  it  inifaithfulness  to  my  hus- 
band? I  scorn  it,  and  defy  anybody  to  prove  it — I  defy 
vou,  I  sav.  ]Mv  honour  is  as  untouched  as  that  of  the 
bitterest  enemy  who  ever  maligned  me.  Is  it  of  being 
poor,  forsaken,  wretched,  that  you  accuse  me?  Yes,  I 
am  guilty  of  those  faults,  and  punished  for  them  every 
day.  Let  me  go,  Emmy.  It  is  only  to  suppose  that  I 
have  not  met  you,  and  I  am  no  worse  to-day  than  I  was 
yesterday.  It  is  only  to  suppose  that  the  night  is  over 
and  the  poor  wanderer  is  on  her  way.  Don't  you  re- 
member the  song  we  used  to  sing  in  old,  dear  old  days? 
I  have  been  wandering  ever  since  then — a  poor  casta- 
way, scorned  for  being  miserable,  and  insulted  because 
I  am  alone.  Let  me  go:  my  stay  here  interferes  with 
the  plans  of  this  gentleman." 

"  Indeed  it  does,  madam,"  said  the  Major.  "  If  I 
have  any  authority  in  this  house — " 

"Authority,  none!"  broke  out  Amelia.  "Rebecca, 
you  stay  with  me.  I  won't  desert  you,  because  you  have 
been  persecuted,  or  insult  you,  because — because  Major 
Dobbin  chooses  to  do  so.  Come  away,  dear."  And  the 
two  women  made  towards  their  door. 

William  opened  it.  As  they  were  going  out,  liowever, 
he  took  Amelia's  hand,  and  said  — "  Will  vou  stav  a 
moment  and  speak  to  me?" 

"  He  wishes  to  speak  to  you  away  from  me,"  said 
Reeky,  looking  like  a  martyr.  Amelia  griped  her  liand 
in  reply. 

"  Upon  my  honour  it  is  not  about  you  that  I  am  going 
to  speak,"  Dobbin  said.  "  Come  back,  Ameha,"  and 
slie  came.  Dobl)in  l)owed  to  Mrs.  Crawley,  as  he  shut 
the   door   upon    her.      xVmelia   looked    at    him,    leaning 


340  VANITY  FAIR 

against  the  glass:   her  face   and  her  lips  were   quite 
white. 

"  I  was  confused  when  I  spoke  just  now,"  the  Major 
said,  after  a  pause ;  "  and  I  misused  the  word  authority." 

"  You  did,"  said  Amelia,  with  her  teeth  chattering. 

"  At  least  I  have  claims  to  be  heard,"  Dobbin  con- 
tinued. 

"It  is  generous  to  remind  me  of  our  obligations  to 
you,"  the  woman  answered. 

"  The  claims  I  mean,  are  those  left  me  by  George's 
father,"  William  said. 

"  Yes,  and  you  insulted  his  memory.  You  did  yes- 
terday. You  know  you  did.  And  I  will  never  forgive 
you.  Never!"  said  Amelia.  She  shot  out  each  little 
sentence  in  a  tremor  of  anger  and  emotion. 

"You  don't  mean  that,  Amelia?"  William  said, 
sadly.  "  You  don't  mean  that  these  words,  uttered  in  a 
hurried  moment,  are  to  weigh  against  a  whole  life's 
devotion?  I  think  that  George's  memory  has  not  been 
injured  by  the  way  in  which  I  have  dealt  with  it,  and 
if  we  are  come  to  bandying  reproaches,  I  at  least  merit 
none  from  his  widow  and  the  mother  of  his  son.  Re- 
flect, afterwards  when— when  you  are  at  leisure,  and 
your  conscience  will  withdraw  this  accusation.  It  does 
even  now."    Amelia  held  down  her  head. 

"  It  is  not  that  speech  of  yesterday,"  he  continued, 
"  which  moves  you.  That  is  but  the  pretext,  Amelia,  or 
I  have  loved  you  and  watched  you  for  fifteen  years  in 
vain.  Have  I  not  learned  in  that  time  to  read  all  your 
feelings,  and  look  into  your  thoughts?  I  know  what 
your  heart  is  capable  of :  it  can  cling  faithfully  to  a  rec- 
ollection, and  cherish  a  fancy;  but  it  can't  feel  such  an 
attachment  as  mine  deserves  to  mate  with,  and  such  as 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT  A  HERO        341 

I  would  have  won  from  a  woman  more  generous  than 
vou.  Xo,  vou  are  not  worthy  of  the  love  which  I  have 
devoted  to  you.  I  knew  all  along  that  the  prize  I  had  set 
my  life  on  was  not  worth  the  winning ;  that  I  was  a  fool, 
with  fond  fancies,  too,  bartering  away  my  all  of  truth 
and  ardour  against  your  little  feeble  remnant  of  love. 
I  will  bargain  no  more:  I  withdraw.  I  find  no  fault 
with  you.  You  are  very  good-natured,  and  have  done 
your  best;  but  you  couldn't — you  couldn't  reach  up  to 
the  height  of  the  attachment  which  I  bore  you,  and 
which  a  loftier  soul  than  yours  might  have  been  proud 
to  share.  Good-bye,  Amelia!  I  have  watched  your 
sti-uggle.    Let  it  end.    We  are  both  wearj^  of  it." 

Amelia  stood  scared  and  silent  as  William  thus  sud- 
denly broke  the  chain  by  which  she  held  him,  and  de- 
clared his  independence  and  superiority.  He  had  placed 
himself  at  her  feet  so  long  that  the  poor  little  woman 
had  been  accustomed  to  trample  upon  him.  She  didn't 
wish  to  marry  him,  but  she  wished  to  keep  him.  She 
wished  to  give  him  nothing,  but  that  he  should  give  her 
all.     It  is  a  bargain  not  unfrequently  levied  in  love. 

William's  sally  had  quite  broken  and  cast  her  down. 
Her  assault  was  long  since  over  and  beaten  back. 

"  Am  I  to  understand  then,— that  you  are  going— 
away,— William?  "  she  said. 

He  gave  a  sad  laugh.  "  I  went  once  before,"  he  said. 
"  and  came  back  after  twelve  years.  We  were  young 
then,  Amelia.  Good-bye.  I  have  spent  enough  of  my 
life  at  this  play." 

Whilst  tliey  liad  been  talking,  the  door  into  Mrs.  Os- 
borne's room  had  opened  ever  so  little;  indeed,  Becky 
liad  kept  a  hold  of  the  handle,  and  had  turned  it  on  the 
instant  when  Dobbin   (juittcd   it;  and  she  heard  every 


342  VANITY   FAIR 

word  of  the  conversation  that  had  passed  between  these 
two.  "  What  a  noble  heart  that  man  has,"  she  thought, 
"  and  how  shamefully  that  woman  plays  with  it."  She 
admired  Dobbin;  she  bore  him  no  rancour  for  the  part 
he  had  taken  against  her.  It  was  an  open  move  in  the 
game,  and  played  fairly.  "Ah!"  she  thought,  "if  I 
could  have  had  such  a  husband  as  that — a  man  with 
a  heart  and  brains  too!  I  would  not  have  minded  his 
large  feet;"  and  running  into  her  room,  she  abso- 
lutely bethought  herself  of  something,  and  wrote 
him  a  note,  beseeching  him  to  stop  for  a  few  days — 
not  to  think  of  going — and  that  she  could  serve  him 
with  A. 

The  parting  was  over.  Once  more  poor  William 
walked  to  the  door  and  was  gone;  and  the  little  widow, 
the  author  of  all  this  work,  had  her  will,  and  had  won 
her  victory,  and  was  left  to  enjoy  it  as  she  best  might. 
Let  the  ladies  envy  her  triumph. 

At  the  romantic  hour  of  dinner,  ]Mr.  Georgy  made  his 
appearance,  and  again  remarked  the  absence  of  "  Old 
Dob."  The  meal  was  eaten  in  silence  by  the  party. 
Jos's  appetite  not  being  diminished,  but  Emmy  taking 
nothing  at  all. 

After  the  meal,  Georgy  was  lolling  in  the  cushions 
of  the  old  window,  a  large  window,  with  three  sides  of 
glass  abutting  from  the  gable,  and  commanding  on  one 
side  the  jNIarket  Place,  where  the  Elephant  is,  his  mother 
being  busy  hard  by,  when  he  remarked  symptoms  of 
movement  at  the  ^Major's  house  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street. 

"Hullo!"  said  he,  "there's  Dob's  trap — they  are 
bringing  it  out  of  the  court-yard."  The  "  trap  "  in 
question  was  a  carriage  which  the  INIajor  had  bought 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT  A  HERO        343 

for  six  pounds  sterling,  and  about  which  they  used  to 
rally  him  a  good  deal. 

Emniy  gave  a  little  start  but  said  nothing. 

"Hullo!"  Georgy  continued,  "there's  Francis  com- 
ing out  with  the  portmanteaus,  and  Kunz,  the  one-eyed 
postilion,  coming  down  the  market  with  three  schimmels. 
Look  at  his  boots  and  yellow  jacket, — ain't  he  a  rum 
one?  Why — they're  putting  the  horses  to  Dob's  car- 
riage.   Is  he  going  anywhere?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Emmy,  "  he  is  going  on  a  journey." 

"  Going  a  journey;  and  when  is  he  coming  back?  " 

"  He  is — not  coming  back,"  answered  Emmy. 

"  Not  coming  back!  "  cried  out  Georgy,  jumping  up. 
"  Stay  here,  sir,"  roared  out  Jos.  "  Stay,  Georgy," 
said  his  mother,  with  a  very  sad  face.  The  boy  stopped ; 
kicked  about  the  room;  jumped  up  and  down  from  the 
window-seat  with  his  knees,  and  showed  every  symptom 
of  uneasiness  and  curiosity. 

The  horses  were  put  to.  The  baggage  was  strapped 
on.  Francis  came  out  with  his  master's  sword,  cane,  and 
umbrella  tied  up  together,  and  laid  them  in  the  well,  and 
his  desk  and  old  tin  cocked-hat  case,  which  lie  placed 
under  the  seat.  Francis  brought  out  the  stained  old  blue 
cloak  lined  with  red  camlet,  which  had  wrapped  the 
owner  up  any  time  these  fifteen  years,  and  had  inanclicn 
Sturm  erleht,  as  a  favourite  song  of  those  days  said. 
It  had  been  new  for  the  campaign  of  Waterloo,  and  had 
covered  George  and  William  after  tlie  night  of  Quartre 
Bras. 

Old  Burcke,  the  landlord  of  the  lodgings,  came  out, 
then  Francis,  witli  more  packages— final  packages- 
then  Major  WilHam,  — Rurcke  wanted  to  kiss  liim.  The 
^lajor  was  adored  by  all  people  with   ^vhom  he  had 


344  VANITY  FAIR 

to  do.  It  was  with  difficulty  he  could  escape  from  this 
demonstration  of  attachment. 

"  By  Jove,  I  will  go!  "  screamed  out  George.  "  Give 
him  this,"  said  Becky,  quite  interested,  and  put  a  paper 
into  the  boy's  hand.  He  had  rushed  down  the  stairs  and 
flung  across  the  street  in  a  minute — the  yellow  postilion 
was  cracking  his  whip  gently. 

William  had  got  into  the  carriage,  released  from  the 
embraces  of  his  landlord.  George  bounded  in  after- 
wards and  flung  his  arms  round  the  INIajor's  neck  (as 
they  saw  from  the  window ) ,  and  began  asking  him  mul- 
tiplied questions.  Then  he  felt  in  his  waistcoat-pocket 
and  gave  him  a  note.  William  seized  at  it  rather 
eagerly,  he  opened  it  trembling,  but  instantly  his  coun- 
tenance changed,  and  he  tore  the  paper  in  two,  and 
dropped  it  out  of  the  carriage.  He  kissed  Georgy  on 
the  head,  and  the  boy  got  out,  doubling  his  fists  into  his 
eyes,  and  with  the  aid  of  Francis.  He  lingered  with  his 
hand  on  the  panel.  Fort  Schwager!  The  yellow  pos- 
tilion cracked  his  whip  prodigiously,  up  sprang  Francis 
to  the  box,  away  went  the  schimmels,  and  Dobbin  with 
his  head  on  his  breast.  He  never  looked  up  as  they 
passed  under  Amelia's  window :  and  Georgy,  left  alone 
in  the  street,  burst  out  crying  in  the  face  of  all  the 
crowd. 

Emmy's  maid  heard  him  howling  again  during  the 
night,  and  brought  him  some  preserved  apricots  to  con- 
sole him.  She  mingled  her  lamentations  with  his.  All 
the  poor,  all  the  humble,  all  honest  folks,  all  good  men 
who  knew  him,  loved  that  kind-hearted  and  simple  gen- 
tleman. 

As  for  Emmv,  had  she  not  done  her  duty?  She  had 
her  picture  of  George  for  a  consolation. 


CHAPTER  LXVII 


WHICH  CONTAINS  BIRTHS,  MARlUxVGES,  AND  DEATHS 

'^^^  Ty'/HATEVER  Becky's  pri- 

\mj/  y'dte  plan  might  be  by 

^  V  which  Dobbin's  true  love 

was  to  be  crowned  with 

success,  the  little  woman 

thought  that  the  secret 

might  keep,  and  indeed, 

being   by   no   means   so 

much    interested    about 

anybody's     welfare     as 

about  her  own,  she  had 

a     great     number     of 

things      pertaining      to 

herself  to  consider,  and 

which   concerned   her   a 

great  deal  more  than  Major  Dobbin's  happiness  in  this 

life. 

She  found  herself  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  in  snug 
comfortable  quarters:  surrounded  by  friends,  kindness, 
and  gcxxl-natured  simple  people,  such  as  she  had  not 
met  with  for  many  a  long  day;  and,  wanderer  as  she 
was  bv  force  and  inclination,  there  were  moments  when 
rest  was  pleasant  to  her.  As  the  most  hardened  Arab 
that  ever  careered  across  the  Desert  over  the  hump  of 
a  dromedary,  likes  to  repose  sometimes  under  the  date- 
trees  by  the  water;    or  to  come  into  the  cities,  walk  in 

3i5 


346  VANITY  FAIR 

the  bazaars,  refresh  himself  in  the  baths,  and  say  his 
prayers  in  the  Mosques,  before  he  goes  out  again  ma- 
rauding; Jos's  tents  and  pilau  were  pleasant  to  this 
little  Ishmaelite.  She  picketed  her  steed,  hung  up  her 
weapons,  and  warmed  herself  comfortably  by  his  fire. 
The  halt  in  that  roving,  restless  life,  was  inexpressibly 
soothing  and  pleasant  to  her. 

So,  pleased  herself,  she  tried  with  all  her  might  to 
please  everybody;  and  we  know  that  she  was  eminent 
and  successful  as  a  practitioner  in  the  art  of  giving  plea- 
sure. As  for  Jos,  even  in  that  little  interview  in  the 
garret  at  the  Elephant  Inn,  she  had  found  means  to  win 
back  a  great  deal  of  his  good  will.  In  the  course  of  a 
week,  the  civilian  was  her  sworn  slave  and  frantic  ad- 
mirer. He  didn't  go  to  sleep  after  dinner,  as  his  custom 
was,  in  the  much  less  lively  society  of  Amelia.  He  drove 
out  with  Becky  in  his  open  carriage.  He  asked  little 
parties  and  invented  festivities  to  do  her  honour. 

Tapeworm,  the  Charge  d'AiFaires,  who  had  abused 
her  so  cruelly,  came  to  dine  with  Jos,  and  then  came 
every  day  to  pay  his  respects  to  Becky.  Poor  Emmy, 
who  was  never  very  talkative,  and  more  glum  and  silent 
than  ever  after  Dobbin's  departure,  was  quite  forgotten 
when  this  superior  genius  made  her  appearance.  The 
French  Minister  was  as  much  charmed  with  her  as  his 
English  rival.  The  German  ladies,  never  particularly 
squeamish  as  regards  morals,  especially  in  English  peo- 
ple, were  delighted  with  the  cleverness  and  wit  of  Mrs. 
Osborne's  charming  friend ;  and  though  she  did  not  ask 
to  go  to  Court,  yet  the  most  august  and  Transparent 
Personages  there  heard  of  her  fascinations,  and  were 
quite  curious  to  know  her.  When  it  became  known  that 
she  was  noble,  of  an  ancient  English  family,  that  her 


A  NOVEL  AVITHOUT   A   HERO        347 

husband  was  a  Colonel  of  the  Guard,  Excellenz  and 
Governor  of  an  island,  only  separated  from  his  lady  by 
one  of  those  trifling  differences  which  are  of  little  ac- 
count in  a  country  where  "  Werther  "  is  still  read,  and 
the  "  Wahlverwandschaften  "  of  Goethe  is  considered 
an  edifying  moral  book,  nobody  thought  of  refusing  to 
receive  her  in  the  very  highest  society  of  the  little  Duchy ; 
and  the  ladies  were  even  more  ready  to  call  her  du,  and 
to  swear  eternal  friendship  for  her,  than  they  had  been 
to  bestow  the  same  inestimable  benefits  upon  Amelia. 
Love  and  Liberty  are  interpreted  by  those  simple  Ger- 
mans in  a  way  which  honest  folks  in  Yorkshire  and  Som- 
ersetshire little  understand;  and  a  lady  might,  in 
some  philosophic  and  civilized  towns,  be  divorced  ever  so 
many  times  from  her  respective  husbands,  and  keep  her 
character  in  society.  Jos's  house  never  was  so  pleasant 
since  he  had  a  house  of  his  own,  as  Rebecca  caused  it  to 
be.  She  sang,  she  played,  she  laughed,  she  talked  in 
two  or  three  languages;  she  brought  everybody  to  the 
house:  and  she  made  Jos  believe  that  it  was  his  own 
great  social  talents  and  wit  which  gathered  the  society 
of  the  place  round  about  him. 

As  for  Emmy,  who  found  herself  not  in  the  least  mis- 
tress of  her  own  house,  except  when  the  bills  were  to  be 
paid,  Becky  soon  discovered  the  way  to  soothe  and  ])lease 
her.  She  talked  to  her  perpetually  about  jNIajor  Dob- 
bin sent  about  his  business,  and  made  no  scruple  of  de- 
claring her  admiration  for  that  excellent,  In'gh-minded 
gentleman,  and  of  telling  Emmy  that  she  liad  behaved 
most  cruelly  regarding  him.  Emmy  defended  her  con- 
duct, and  showed  that  it  was  dictated  only  by  the  ])ui-est 
religious  principles;  that  a  woman  once,  «Scc.,  and  to 
sucli  an  angel  as  he  whom  slie  had  had  the  good  fortune 


348  VANITY  FAIR 

to  marry,  was  married  for  ever;  but  she  had  no  objection 
to  hear  the  Major  praised  as  much  as  ever  Becky  chose 
to  praise  him;  and  indeed  brought  the  conversation 
round  to  the  Dobbin  subject  a  score  of  times  every  day. 

Means  were  easily  found  to  win  the  favour  of  Georgy 
and  the  servants.  Ameha's  maid,  it  has  been  said,  was 
heart  and  soul  in  favour  of  the  generous  jNIajor.  Hav- 
ing at  first  disliked  Becky  for  being  the  means  of  dis- 
missing him  from  the  presence  of  her  mistress,  she  was 
reconciled  to  Mrs.  Crawley  subsequently,  because  the 
latter  became  William's  most  ardent  admirer  and  cham- 
pion. And  in  those  nightly  conclaves  in  which  the  two 
ladies  indulged  after  their  parties,  and  while  Miss  Payne 
was  "  brushing  their  'airs,"  as  she  called  the  yellow  locks 
of  the  one,  and  the  soft  brown  tresses  of  the  other,  this 
girl  always  put  in  her  word  for  that  dear  good  gentle- 
man Major  Dobbin.  Her  advocacy  did  not  make 
Amelia  angry  any  more  than  Rebecca's  admiration  of 
him.  She  made  George  write  to  him  constantly,  and 
persisted  in  sending  Mamma's  kind  love  in  a  postscript. 
And  as  she  looked  at  her  husband's  portrait  of  nights, 
it  no  longer  reproached  her — perhaps  she  reproached  it, 
now  William  was  gone. 

Emmy  was  not  very  happy  after  her  heroic  sacrifice. 
She  was  very  distraite,  nervous,  silent,  and  ill  to  please. 
The  family  had  never  known  her  so  peevish.  She  grew 
pale  and  ill.  She  used  to  try  and  sing  certain  songs 
("  Einsam  bin  ich  nicht  alleine,"  was  one  of  them;  that 
tender  love-song  of  Weber's,  which,  in  old-fashioned 
days,  young  ladies,  and  when  you  were  scarcely  born, 
showed  that  those  who  lived  before  you  knew  too  how 
to  love  and  to  sing)  ; — certain  songs,  I  say,  to  which 
the  Major  was  partial;   and  as  she  warbled  them  in  the 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO        349 

twilight  in  the  drawing-room,  she  would  break  off  in 
the  midst  of  the  song,  and  walk  into  her  neighbouring 
apartment,  and  there,  no  doubt,  take  refuge  in  the  min- 
iature of  her  husband. 

Some  books  still  subsisted,  after  Dobbin's  departure, 
with  his  name  written  in  them;  a  German  Dictionary, 
for  instance,  wuth  "  William  Dobbin,  — th  Reg.,"  in  the 
fly-leaf;  a  guide-book  wdth  his  initials,  and  one  or  two 
other  volumes  which  belonged  to  the  JNIajor.  Emmy 
cleared  these  away,  and  put  them  on  the  drawers,  where 
she  placed  her  work-box,  her  desk,  her  Bible,  and  Pray- 
er-book, under  the  pictures  of  the  two  Georges.  And 
the  ]Major,  on  going  away,  having  left  his  gloves  behind 
him,  it  is  a  fact  that  Georgy,  rummaging  his  mother's 
desk  some  time  afterw^ards,  found  the  gloves  neatly 
folded  up,  and  put  away  in  what  they  call  the  secret 
drawers  of  the  desk. 

Xot  caring  for  society,  and  moping  there  a  great  deal, 
Emmy's  chief  pleasure  in  the  summer  evenings  was  to 
take  long  walks  with  Georgy  (during  which  Rebecca 
was  left  to  the  society  of  Mr.  Joseph),  and  then  the 
mother  and  son  used  to  talk  about  the  JNIajor  in  a  way 
which  even  made  the  boy  smile.  She  told  him  that  she 
thouglit  ]Major  William  was  the  best  man  in  all  the 
world ;  the  gentlest  and  the  kindest,  the  bravest  and  the 
humblest.  Over  and  over  again,  she  told  him  how  they 
owed  everything  which  they  possessed  in  the  world  to 
that  kind  friend's  benevolent  care  of  them ;  how  he  had 
befriended  them  all  through  their  poverty  and  misfor- 
tunes; watched  over  them  when  nobody  cared  for  them; 
how  all  liis  comrades  admired  him,  tliough  he  never  spoke 
of  his  own  gallant  actions;  how  Georgy's  father  trusted 
liim  beyond  all  other  men,  and  had  been  constantly  be- 

VOL.  III. 


350  VANITY  FAIR 

friended  by  the  good  William.  "  Why,  when  your  papa 
was  a  little  boy,"  she  said,  "  he  often  told  me  that  it  was 
William  who  defended  him  against  a  tyrant  at  the  school 
where  they  werej^  and  their  friendship  never  ceased  from 
that  day  until  the  last,  when  your  dear  father  fell." 

"  Did  Dobbin  kill  the  man  who  killed  papa?  "  Georgy 
said.  "  I'm  sure  he  did,  or  he  would  if  he  could  have 
caught  him;  wouldn't  he,  mother?  When  I'm  in  the 
army,  won't  I  hate  the  French? — that's  all." 

In  such  colloquies  the  mother  and  the  child  passed  a 
great  deal  of  their  time  together.  The  artless  woman 
had  made  a  confidant  of  the  boy.  He  was  as  much 
William's  friend  as  everybodj'^  else  who  knew  him  well. 

By  the  way,  Mrs.  Becky,  not  to  be  behind-hand  in 
sentiment,  had  got  a  miniature  too  hanging  up  in  her 
room,  to  the  surprise  and  amusement  of  most  people, 
and  the  delight  of  the  original,  who  was  no  other  than  our 
friend  Jos.  On  her  first  coming  to  favour  the  Sedleys 
with  a  visit,  the  little  woman,  who  had  arrived  with  a  re- 
markably small  shabby  kit,  was  perhaps  ashamed  of  the 
meanness  of  her  trunks  and  bandboxes,  and  often  spoke 
with  great  respect  about  her  baggage  left  behind  at 
Leipzig,  which  she  must  have  from  that  city.  When  a 
traveller  talks  to  you  perpetually  about  the  splendour 
of  his  luggage,  which  he  does  not  happen  to  have  with 
him;  my  son,  beware  of  that  traveller!  He  is,  ten  to 
one,  an  impostor. 

Neither  Jos  nor  Emmy  knew  this  important  maxim. 
It  seemed  to  them  of  no  consequence  whether  Becky  had 
a  quantity  of  very  fine  clothes  in  invisible  trunks ;  but 
as  her  present  supply  was  exceedingly  shabby,  Emmy 
supplied  her  out  of  her  own  stores,  or  took  her  to  the 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A   HERO        351 

best  milliner  in  the  town,  and  there  fitted  her  out.  It 
was  no  more  torn  collars  now,  I  promise  you,  and  faded 
silks  trailing  oiF  at  the  shoulder.  Becky  changed  her 
habits  with  her  situation  in  life — the  rouge-pot  was  sus- 
pended—another excitement  to  which  she  had  accus- 
tomed herself  was  also  put  aside,  or  at  least  only  in- 
dulged in  in  privacy;  as  when  she  was  prevailed  on  by 
Jos  of  a  summer  evening,  Emmy  and  the  boy  being 
absent  on  their  walks,  to  take  a  little  spirit-and-water. 
But  if  she  did  not  indulge — the  courier  did:  that  rascal 
Kirsch  could  not  be  kept  from  the  bottle;  nor  could 
he  tell  how  much  he  took  when  he  applied  to  it. 
He  was  sometimes  surprised  himself  at  the  way  in 
which  JNIr.  Sedley's  cognac  diminished.  Well,  well; 
this  is  a  j)ainful  subject.  Becky  did  not  very  likely 
indulge  so  much  as  she  used  to  before  she  entered  a  decor- 
ous family. 

At  last  the  much-bragged  about  boxes  arrived 
from  Leipzig; — three  of  them  not  b}^  any  means  large 
or  splendid; — nor  did  Becky  appear  to  take  out  any 
sort  of  dresses  or  ornaments  from  the  boxes  when 
thev  did  arrive.  But  out  of  one,  which  contained  a 
mass  of  her  papers  (it  was  that  very  box  which  Raw- 
don  Crawley  had  ransacked  in  his  furious  hunt  for 
Becky's  concealed  money),  she  took  a  picture  with 
great  glee,  which  she  ])inned  up  in  her  room,  and  to 
which  she  introduced  Jos.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a 
gentleman  in  pencil,  his  face  having  the  advantage  of 
being  painted  up  in  pink.  He  was  riding  on  an  ele- 
phant away  from  some  cocoa-nut  trees,  and  a  pagoda: 
it  was  an  Eastern  scene. 

"  God  })less  my  soul,  it  is  my  portrait,"  Jos  cried  out. 
It  was  he  indeed.  ])loominiJ'  in  vouili  and  ])eautv,  in  a 


352  VANITY  FAIR 

nankeen  jacket  of  the  cut  of  1804.    It  was  the  old  pic- 
ture that  used  to  hang  up  in  Russell  Square. 

"  I  bought  it,"  said  Becky,  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
emotion;  "  I  went  to  see  if  I  could  be  of  any  use  to  my 
kind  friends.  I  have  never  parted  with  that  picture— I 
never  will." 

"  Won't  you? "  Jos  cried,  with  a  look  of  unutterable 
rapture  and  satisfaction.  "  Did  you  really  now  value 
it  for  my  sake?  " 

"  You  know  I  did,  well  enough,"  said  Becky;  "  but 
why  speak, — why  think, — why  look  back!  It  is  too  late 
now! 

That  evening's  conversation  was  delicious  for  Jos. 
Emmy  only  came  in  to  go  to  bed  very  tired  and  unwell. 
Jos  and  his  fair  guest  had  a  charming  tete-a-tete,  and 
his  sister  could  hear,  as  she  lay  awake  in  her  adjoining 
chamber,  Rebecca  singing  over  to  Jos  the  old  songs  of 
1815.  He  did  not  sleep,  for  a  wonder,  that  night,  any 
more  than  Amelia. 

It  was  June,  and,  by  consequence,  high  season  in  Lon- 
don; Jos,  who  read  the  incomparable  Galignani  (the 
exile's  best  friend)  through  every  day,  used  to  favour 
the  ladies  with  extracts  from  his  paper  during  their 
breakfast.  Every  week  in  this  paper  there  is  a  full  ac- 
count of  military  movements,  in  which  Jos,  as  a  man 
who  had  seen  service,  was  especially  interested.  On  one 
occasion  he  read  out — "  Arrival  of  the  — th  regiment. 
—  Gravesend,  June  20.  —  The  Ramchunder,  East  India- 
man,  came  into  the  river  this  morning,  having  on  board 
14  officers,  and  132  rank  and  file  of  this  gallant  corps. 
They  have  been  absent  from  England  fourteen  years, 
having  been  embarked  the  year  after  Waterloo,  in  which 
glorious  conflict  they  took  an  active  part,  and  having 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT  A  HERO        353 

subsequently  distinguished  themselves  in  the  Burmese 
war.  The  veteran  colonel,  Sir  ]Michael  O'Dowd, 
K.C.B.,  with  his  lady  and  sister,  landed  here  yesterday, 
with  Captains  Posky,  Stubble,  ^lacraw,  ^lalony;  Lieu- 
tenants Smith,  Jones,  Thompson,  F.  Thomson ;  Ensigns 
Hicks  and  Grady;  the  band  on  the  pier  playing  the 
national  anthem,  and  the  crowd  loudly  cheering  the 
gallant  veterans  as  they  went  into  Wayte's  hotel,  where 
a  sumptuous  banquet  w^as  provided  for  the  defenders  of 
Old  England.  During  the  repast,  which  we  need  not 
say  was  served  up  in  Wayte's  best  style,  the  cheering 
continued  so  enthusiastically,  that  Lady  O'Dowd  and 
the  Colonel  came  forward  to  the  balcony,  and  drank  the 
healths  of  their  fellow-countrymen  in  a  bumper  of 
Wayte's  best  claret." 

On  a  second  occasion  Jos  read  a  brief  announcement 
— Major  Dobbin  had  joined  the  — th  regiment  at  Chat- 
ham ;  and  subsequently  he  promulgated  accounts  of  the 
presentations  at  the  Drawing-room,  of  Colonel  Sir  ]Mi- 
chael  O'Dowd,  K.C.B.,  Lady  O'Dowd  (by  Mrs.  Molloy 
]Malon\"  of  Ballymalony),  and  Miss  Glorvina  O'Dowd 
(by  Lady  O'Dowd).  Almost  directly  after  this,  Dob- 
bin's name  appeared  among  the  Lieutenant-Colonels: 
for  old  ^Marshal  TiptofF  had  died  during  the  passage  of 
the  — th  from  INIadras,  and  the  Sovereign  was  pleased 
to  advance  Colonel  Sir  Michael  O'Dowd  to  the  rank  of 
Major-General  on  his  return  to  England,  with  an  inti- 
mation that  he  should  be  Colonel  of  the  distinguislied 
regiment  which  he  had  so  long  commanded. 

Amelia  had  ])een  made  aware  of  some  of  these  move- 
ments. The  correspondence  l)etween  George  and  his 
guardian  had  not  ceased  by  any  means:    William  had 


354  VANITY  FAIR 

even  written  once  or  twice  to  her  since  his  departure,  but 
in  a  manner  so  unconstrainedly  cold,  that  the  poor 
woman  felt  now  in  her  turn  that  she  had  lost  her  power 
over  him,  and  that,  as  he  had  said,  he  was  free.  He  had 
left  her,  and  she  was  wretched.  The  memory  of  his  al- 
most  countless  services,  and  lofty  and  affectionate  re- 
gard,  now  presented  itself  to  her,  and  rebuked  her  day 
and  night.  She  brooded  over  those  recollections  according 
to  her  wont :  saw  the  purity  and  beauty  of  the  affection 
with  which  she  had  trifled,  and  reproached  herself  for 
having  flung  away  such  a  treasure. 

It  was  gone  indeed.  William  had  spent  it  all  out. 
He  loved  her  no  more,  he  thought,  as  he  had  loved  her. 
He  never  could  again.  That  sort  of  regard,  which  he 
had  proffered  to  her  for  so  many  faithful  years,  can't 
be  flung  down  and  shattered,  and  mended  so  as  to  show 
no  scars.  The  little  heedless  tyrant  had  so  destroyed 
it.  No,  William  thought  again  and  again,  "  It  was  my- 
self I  deluded,  and  persisted  in  cajoling;  had  she  been 
worthy  of  the  love  I  gave  her,  she  would  ha\'e  returned 
it  long  ago.  It  was  a  fond  mistake.  Isn't  the  whole 
course  of  life  made  up  of  such  ?  and  suppose  I  had  won 
her,  should  I  not  have  been  disenchanted  the  day  after 
my  victory?  Why  pine,  or  be  ashamed  of  my  defeat?  " 
The  more  he  thought  of  this  long  passage  of  his 
life,  the  more  clearly  he  saw  his  deception.  "  I'll 
go  into  harness  again,"  he  said,  "  and  do  my  duty 
in  that  state  of  life  in  which  it  has  pleased  Heaven  to 
place  me.  I  will  see  that  the  buttons  of  the  recruits  are 
properly  bright,  and  that  the  sergeants  make  no  mis- 
takes in  their  accounts.  I  will  dine  at  mess,  and  listen  to 
the  Scotch  surgeon  telling  his  stories.  When  I  am  old 
and  broken,  I  will  go  on  half -pay,  and  my  old  sisters 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO       355 

shall  scold  me.  I  have  '  geliebt  and  gelebet '  as  the  girl 
m  Wallenstein  says.  I  am  done. — Pay  the  bills,  and  get 
me  a  cigar :  find  out  what  there  is  at  the  play  to-night, 
Francis;  to-morrow  we  cross  by  the  '  Batavier.'  "  He 
made  the  above  speech,  whereof  Francis  only  heard  the 
last  two  lines,  pacing  up  and  down  the  Boompjes  at 
Rotterdam.  The  "  Batavier  "  was  Ivino-  in  the  basin. 
He  could  see  the  place  on  the  quarter-deck,  where  he  and 
Emmy  had  sate  on  the  happy  voyage  out.  What  had 
that  little  ]Mrs.  Crawley  to  say  to  him?  Psha!  to-mor- 
row we  will  put  to  sea,  and  return  to  England,  home, 
and  duty. 

After  June  all  the  little  Court  Society  of  Pumpernickel 
used  to  separate,  according  to  the  German  plan,  and 
make  for  a  hundred  watering-places,  where  they  drank 
at  the  wells;  rode  upon  donkeys;  gambled  at  the  re- 
doutes.  if  they  had  monev  and  a  mind;  rushed  with  hun- 
dreds  of  their  kind,  to  gormandise  at  the  tables  d'hote; 
and  idled  away  the  summer.  The  English  diplomatists 
went  off  to  Toeplitz  and  Kissingen,  their  French  rivals 
^shut  up  their  chancellerie  and  whisked  away  to  their 
darling  Boulevard  de  Gand.  The  Transparent  reigning 
family  took  too  to  the  waters,  or  retired  to  their  hunting- 
lodges.  Everybody  went  away  having  any  pretensions 
to  politeness,  and,  of  course,  with  them.  Doctor  von 
Glauber,  the  Court  Doctor,  and  his  Baroness.  The 
seasons  for  the  baths  were  the  most  productive  periods 
of  the  Doctor's  practice — he  united  business  witli  ])lea- 
sure,  and  his  chief  place  of  resort  was  Ostend,  wliich  is 
much  fre(|uented  by  Germans,  and  where  the  Doctor 
treated  liimself  and  his  spouse  to  wliat  he  called  a  "  dib  " 
in  the  sea. 


356  VxlNlTY  FAIR 

His  interesting  patient,  Jos,  was  a  regular  milch  cow 
to  the  Doctor,  and  he  easily  persuaded  the  civilian,  both 
for  his  own  health's  sake  and  that  of  his  charming  sister, 
which  was  really  very  much  shattered,  to  pass  the  sum- 
mer at  that  hideous  seaport  town.  Emmy  did  not  care 
where  she  went  much.  Georgy  jumped  at  the  idea  of  a 
move.  As  for  Becky,  she  came  as  a  matter  of  course  in 
the  fourth  place  inside  of  the  fine  barouche  Mr.  Jos  had 
bought:  the  two  domestics  being  on  the  box  in  front. 
She  might  have  some  misgivings  about  the  friends  whom 
she  should  meet  at  Ostend,  and  who  might  be  likely  to 
tell  ugly  stories — but,  bah!  she  was  strong  enough  to 
hold  her  own.  She  had  cast  such  an  anchor  in  Jos  now  as 
would  require  a  strong  storm  to  shake.  That  incident 
of  the  picture  had  finished  him.  Becky  took  down  her 
elephant,  and  put  it  into  the  little  box  which  she  had 
had  from  Amelia  ever  so  many  years  ago.  Emmy  also 
came  off  with  her  Lares, — her  two  pictures, — and  the 
party,  finally,  were  lodged  in  an  exceedingly  dear  and 
uncomfortable  house  at  Ostend. 

There  Amelia  began  to  take  baths,  and  get  what 
good  she  could  from  them,  and  though  scores  of  people 
of  Becky's  acquaintance  passed  her  and  cut  her,  yet 
Mrs.  Osborne,  who  walked  about  with  her,  and  who 
knew  nobody,  was  not  aware  of  the  treatment  experi- 
enced by  the  friend  whom  she  had  chosen  so  judiciously 
as  a  companion;  indeed,  Becky  never  thought  fit  to  tell 
her  what  was  passing  under  her  innocent  eyes. 

Some  of  ]Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  acquaintances,  how- 
ever, acknowledged  her  readily  enough, — perhaps  more 
readily  than  she  would  have  desired.  Among  those 
were  Major  Loder  (unattached),  and  Captain  Rook 
(late  of  the  Rifles),  who  might  be  seen  any  day  on  the 


A  NOVEL  WITHOUT   A  HERO        357 

Dyke,  smoking  and  staring  at  the  women,  and  who 
speedily  got  an  introduction  to  the  hospitable  board  and 
select  circle  of  ]Mr.  Joseph  Sedley.  In  fact,  they  would 
take  no  denial ;  they  burst  into  the  house  whether  Becky 
was  at  home  or  not,  walked  into  JNIrs.  Osborne's  draw- 
ing-room,  which  they  perfumed  with  their  coats  and 
moustachios,  called  Jos  "  Old  buck,'  and  invaded  his 
dinner-table,  and  laughed  and  drank  for  long  hours 
there. 

"  What  can  they  mean?  "  asked  Georgy,  who  did  not 
like  these  gentlemen.  "  I  heard  the  INIajor  say  to  jNIrs. 
Crawley  yesterday,  '  No,  no,  Becky,  you  shan't  keep  the 
old  buck  to  yourself.  We  must  have  the  bones  in,  or 
dammy,  I'll  split.'  What  could  the  INIajor  mean, 
Mamma?  " 

"  Major!  don't  call  him  Major!  "  Emmy  said.  "  I'm 
sure  I  can't  tell  what  he  meant."  His  presence  and  that 
of  his  friend  inspired  the  little  lady  with  intolerable 
terror  and  aversion.  They  paid  her  tipsy  compliments; 
they  leered  at  her  over  the  dinner-table.  And  the  Cap- 
tain made  her  advances  that  filled  her  wijth  sickening 
dismay,  nor  would  she  ever  see  him  unless  she  had 
George  by  her  side. 

Rebecca,  to  do  her  justice,  never  would  let  eitlier  of 
these  men  remain  alone  with  Amelia;  the  INIajor  was 
disengaged  too,  and  swore  he  would  be  the  winner  of 
her.  A  couple  of  ruffians  were  fighting  for  this  innocent 
creature,  gambling  for  her  at  her  own  table ;  and  though 
she  was  not  aware  of  the  rascals'  designs  upon  lier,  yet 
she  felt  a  horror  and  uneasiness  in  their  presence,  and 
longed  to  fly. 

She  besought,  she  entreated  Jos  to  go.  Not  lie.  He 
was  slow  of  movement,  tied  to  his  Doctor,  and  perhaps 


358  VANITY  FAIR 

to  some  other  leading-strings.  At  least  Becky  was  not 
anxious  to  go  to  England. 

At  last  she  took  a  great  resolution — made  the  great 
plunge.  She  wrote  off  a  letter  to  a  friend  whom  she 
had  on  the  other  side  of  the  water ;  a  letter  about  which 
she  did  not  speak  a  word  to  anybody,  which  she  carried 
herself  to  the  post  under  her  shawl,  nor  was  any  remark 
made  about  it;  only  that  she  looked  very  much  flushed 
and  agitated  when  Georgy  met  her;  and  she  kissed 
him  and  hung  over  him  a  great  deal  that  night.  She 
did  not  come  out  of  her  room  after  her  return  from 
her  walk.  Becky  thought  it  was  Major  Loder  and  the 
Captain  who  friglitened  her. 

"  She  mustn't  stop  here,"  Becky  reasoned  with  her- 
self. "  She  must  go  away,  the  silly  little  fool.  She  is 
still  whimpering  after  that  gaby  of  a  husband — dead 
(and  served  right!)  these  fifteen  years.  She  shan't 
marry  either  of  these  men.  It's  too  bad  of  Loder.  No ; 
she  shall  marry  the  bamboo-cane,  I'll  settle  it  this  very 
night." 

So  Becky  took  a  cup  of  tea  to  Amelia  in  her  private 
apartment,  and  found  that  lady  in  the  company  of  her 
miniatures,  and  in  a  most  melancholy  and  nervous  con- 
dition.    She  laid  down  the  cup  of  tea. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Amelia. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Amelia,"  said  Becky,  marching  up 
and  down  the  room  before  the  other,  and  surveying  her 
with  a  sort  of  contemptuous  kindness.  "  I  want  to  talk 
to  you.  You  must  go  away  from  here  and  from  the  im- 
pertinences of  these  men.  I  won't  have  you  harassed 
by  them:  and  they  will  insult  you  if  you  stay.  I  tell 
you  they  are  rascals ;  men  fit  to  send  to  the  hulks.  Never 
mind  how^  I  know  them.    I  know  everybody.    Jos  can't 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO        359 

protect  you,  he  is  too  weak,  and  wants  a  protector  him- 
self. You  are  no  more  fit  to  hve  in  the  world  than  a 
babv  in  arms.  You  must  marry,  or  you  and  your 
precious  boy  will  go  to  ruin.  You  must  have  a  husband, 
you  fool;  and  one  of  the  best  gentlemen  I  ever  saw 
has  offered  you  a  hundred  times,  and  you  have  rejected 
him,  you  silly,  heartless,  ungrateful  little  creature!" 

"  I  tried — I  tried  my  best,  indeed  I  did,  Rebecca," 
said  Amelia,  deprecatingly,  "  but  I  couldn't  forget —  ;  " 
and  she  finished  the  sentence  by  looking  up  at  the  por- 
trait. 

"  Couldn't  forget  Mml"  cried  out  Beckj^  "that  sel- 
fish humbug,  that  low-bred  cockney-dandy,  that  padded 
booby,  who  had  neither  wit,  nor  manners,  nor  heart,  and 
was  no  more  to  be  compared  to  your  friend  with  the 
bamboo  cane  than  you  are  to  Queen  Elizabeth.  Why, 
the  man  was  weary  of  you,  and  would  have  jilted  you, 
but  that  Dobbin  forced  him  to  keep  his  word.  He 
owned  it  to  me.  He  never  cared  for  you.  He  used  to 
sneer  about  you  to  me,  time  after  time;  and  made  love 
to  me  the  week  after  he  married  you." 

"  It's  false!  It's  false!  Rebecca,"  cried  out  Amelia, 
starting  up. 

"  Look  there,  you  fool,"  Becky  said,  still  with  pro- 
voking good  humour,  and  taking  a  little  paper  out  of 
her  belt,  she  opened  it  and  flung  it  into  Emmy's  lap. 
"  You  know  his  hand-writing.  He  wrote  that  to  me— 
wanted  me  to  run  away  with  him— gave  it  me  under 
your  nose,  the  day  before  he  was  shot— and  served  him 
right!  "  Becky  repeated. 

Emmy  did  not  hear  her;  she  was  looking  at  the  letter. 
It  was  that  wliicli  Cieorge  had  i)ut  into  the  iKHupiet  and 
given  to  Becky  on  the  niglit  of  tlie  Duchess  of  Rich- 


360  VANITY  FAIR 

mond's  ball.  It  was  as  she  said :  the  foolish  young  man 
had  asked  her  to  fly. 

Emmy's  head  sank  down,  and  for  almost  the  last  time 
in  which  she  shall  be  called  upon  to  weep  in  this  history, 
she  commenced  that  work.  Her  head  fell  to  her  bosom, 
and  her  hands  went  up  to  her  eyes;  and  there  for  a 
while,  she  gave  way  to  her  emotions,  as  Becky  stood 
on  and  regarded  her.  Who  shall  analyse  those  tears, 
and  say  whether  they  were  sweet  or  bitter?  Was  she 
most  grieved,  because  the  idol  of  her  life  was  tumbled 
down  and  shivered  at  her  feet,  or  indignant  that  her  love 
had  been  so  despised,  or  glad  because  the  barrier  was 
removed  which  modesty  had  placed  between  her  and  a 
new,  a  real  affection?  "  There  is  nothing  to  forbid  me 
now,"  she  thought.  "  I  may  love  him  with  all  my  heart 
now.  O,  I  will,  I  will,  if  he  will  but  let  me,  and  forgive 
me."  I  believe  it  was  this  feeling  rushed  over  all  the 
others  which  agitated  that  gentle  little  bosom. 

Indeed,  she  did  not  cry  so  much  as  Becky  expected — 
the  other  soothed  and  kissed  her — a  rare  mark  of  sym- 
pathy with  Mrs.  Becky.  She  treated  Emmy  like  a 
child,  and  patted  her  head.  "  And  now  let  us  get  pen 
and  ink,  and  write  to  him  to  come  this  minute,"  she  said. 

"I — I  wrote  to  him  this  morning,"  Emmy  said,  blush- 
ing exceedingly.  Becky  screamed  with  laughter — "  Un 
higlietto"  she  sang  out  with  Rosina,  "eccolo  qua! " — the 
whole  house  echoed  with  her  shrill  singing. 

Two  mornings  after  this  little  scene,  although  the 
day  was  rainy  and  gusty,  and  Amelia  had  had  an  ex- 
ceedingly wakeful  night,  listening  to  the  wind  roaring, 
and  pitying  all  travellers  by  land  and  by  water,  yet  she 
got  up  early,  and  insisted  upon  taking  a  walk  on  the 
Dyke  with  Georgy;    and  there  she  paced  as  the  rain 


A   XOVEL   WITHOUT   A   HERO      361 

beat  into  her  face,  and  she  looked  out  westward  across 
the  dark  sea  hne,  and  over  the  swollen  billows  which 
came  timibling  and  frothing  to  the  shore.  Neither 
spoke  much,  except  now  and  then,  when  the  boy  said  a 
few  words  to  his  timid  companion,  indicative  of  sympa- 
thy and  protection. 

"  I  hope  he  won't  cross  in  such  weather,"  Enmiy  said. 

"  I  bet  ten  to  one  he  does,"  the  boy  answered.  "  Look, 
mother,  there's  the  smoke  of  the  steamer."  It  was  that 
signal,  sure  enough. 

But  though  the  steamer  was  under  weigh,  he  might 
not  be  on  board;  he  might  not  have  got  the  letter;  he 
might  not  choose  to  come. — A  hundred  fears  poured  one 
over  the  other  into  the  little  heart,  as  fast  as  the  waves 
on  to  the  Dyke. 

The  boat  followed  the  smoke  into  sight.  Georgy  had 
a  dandy  telescope,  and  got  the  vessel  under  view  in  the 
most  skilful  manner.  And  he  made  appropriate  nauti- 
cal comments  upon  the  manner  of  the  approach  of  the 
steamer  as  she  came  nearer  and  nearer,  dipping  and 
rising  in  the  water.  The  signal  of  an  English  steamer 
in  sight  went  fluttering  up  to  the  mast  on  the  pier.  I 
dare  say  ]Mrs.  Amelia's  heart  was  in  a  similar  flutter. 

Emmy  tried  to  look  through  the  telescope  over 
George's  shoulder,  but  she  could  make  nothing  of  it. 
She  only  saw  a  black  eclipse  bobbing  up  and  down  before 
her  eyes. 

George  took  tlie  glass  again  and  raked  the  vessel. 
"  How  she  does  pitcli ! "  he  said.  "  There  goes  a  wave  ship 
over  her  bows.  There's  only  two  people  on  deck  besides 
the  steersman.  There's  a  man  lying  down,  and  a — chap 
in  a— cloak  with  a— Hooray!— It's  Dob,  by  Jingo!"  He 
clapped  to  the  telescope  and  flung  his  arms  round  his 


362  VANITY  FAIR 

mother.  As  for  that  lady :  let  us  say  what  she  did  in  the 
words  of  a  favourite  poet — Aaxpuosv  YsXaaaoa.  She  was 
sure  it  was  William.  It  could  be  no  other.  What  she  had 
said  about  hoping  that  he  would  not  come  was  all  hypoc- 
risy. Of  course  he  would  come:  what  could  he  do  else 
but  come  ?    She  knew  he  would  come. 

The  ship  came  swiftly  nearer  and  nearer.  As  they 
went  in  to  meet  her  at  the  landing-place  at  the  Quay, 
Enmiy's  knees  trembled  so  that  she  scarcely  could  run. 
She  would  have  liked  to  kneel  down  and  say  her  prayers 
of  thanks  there.  Oh,  she  thought,  she  would  be  all  her 
life  saying  them ! 

It  was  such  a  bad  day  that  as  the  vessel  came  alongside 
of  the  Quay  there  were  no  idlers  abroad ;  scarcely  even 
a  commissioner  on  the  look-out  for  the  few  passengers 
in  the  steamer.  That  young  scapegrace  George  had  fled 
too:  and  as  the  gentleman  in  the  old  cloak  lined  with 
red  stuff  stepped  on  to  the  shore,  there  was  scarcely  any 
one  present  to  see  what  took  place,  which  was  briefly 
this : 

A  lady  in  a  dripping  white  bonnet  and  shawl,  with 
her  two  little  hands  out  before  her,  went  up  to  him,  and 
in  the  next  minute  she  had  altogether  disappeared  under 
the  folds  of  the  old  cloak,  and  was  kissing  one  of  his 
hands  with  all  her  might;  whilst  the  other,  I  sup- 
pose, was  engaged  in  holding  her  to  his  heart  (which  her 
head  just  about  reached)  and  in  preventing  her  from 
tumbling  down.  She  was  murmuring  something  about 
— forgive — dear  William — dear,  dear,  dearest  friend — 
kiss,  kiss,  kiss,  and  so  forth— and  in  fact  went  on  under 
the  cloak  in  an  absurd  manner. 

When  Emmy  emerged  from  it,  she  still  kept  tight 
hold  of  one  of  William's  hands,  and  looked  up  in  his 


A  NOVEL   WITHOUT  A  HERO        363 

face.    It  was  full  of  sadness  and  tender  love  and  pity. 
She  understood  its  reproach,  and  hung  down  her  head. 

"  It  was  time  you  sent  for  me,  dear  Amelia,"  he  said. 

"  You  will  never  go  again,  William." 

"  No,  never,"  he  answered:  and  pressed  the  dear  little 
soul  once  more  to  his  heart. 

As  they  issued  out  of  the  Custom-house  precincts, 
Georgy  broke  out  on  them,  witli  his  telescope  up  to  his 
eye,  and  a  loud  laugh  of  welcome ;  he  danced  round  the 
couple,  and  performed  many  facetious  antics  as  he  led 
them  up  to  the  house.  Jos  wasnt  up  yet;  Becky  not 
visible  (though  she  looked  at  them  through  the  blinds). 
Georgy  ran  off  to  see  about  breakfast.  Emmy,  whose 
shawl  and  bonnet  were  off  in  the  passage  in  the  hands 
of  Mrs.  Payne,  now  went  to  undo  the  clasp  of  William's 
cloak,  and — we  will,  if  j^ou  please,  go  with  George,  and 
look  after  breakfast  for  the  Colonel.  The  vessel  is  in 
port.  He  has  got  the  prize  he  has  been  trying  for  all 
his  life.  The  bird  has  come  in  at  last.  There  it  is  with 
its  head  on  his  shoulder,  billing  and  cooing  close  up  to 
his  heart,  with  soft  outstretched  fluttering  wings.  This 
is  what  he  has  asked  for  ever}'-  day  and  hour  for  eighteen 
years.  This  is  what  he  pined  after.  Here  it  is — the 
summit,  the  end  —  tlie  last  page  of  the  third  volume, 
(rood-bve,  Colonel  —  God  bless  vou,  honest  William! — 
Farewell,  dear  Amelia — Grow  green  again,  tender  little 
parasite,  round  the  rugged  old  oak  to  which  you  cling! 


Perhaps  it  was  compunction  towards  tlie  kind  and 
simple  creature,  who  had  been  the  first  in  life  to  defend 
her,  perhaps  it  was  a  dislike  to  all  such  sentimental 
scenes,  — but  Rebecca,  satisfied  with  her  part  in  the  trans- 


364  VANITY  FAIR 

action,  never  presented  herself  before  Colonel  Dobbin 
and  the  lady  whom  he  married.  "  Particular  business," 
she  said,  took  her  to  Bruges,  whither  she  went ;  and  only 
Georgy  and  his  uncle  were  present  at  the  marriage  cere- 
mony. When  it  was  over,  and  Georgy  had  rejoined  his 
parents,  Mrs.  Becky  returned  (just  for  a  few  days)  to 
comfort  the  solitary  bachelor,  Joseph  Sedley.  He  pre- 
ferred a  continental  life,  he  said,  and  declined  to  join 
in  housekeeping  with  his  sister  and  her  husband. 

Emmy  was  very  glad  in  her  heart  to  think  that  she 
had  written  to  her  husband  before  she  read  or  knew  of 
that  letter  of  George's.  "  I  knew  it  all  along,"  William 
said;  "but  could  I  use  that  weapon  against  the  poor 
fellow's  memory?  It  was  that  which  made  me  suffer 
so  when  you — " 

"  Never  speak  of  tliat  day  again,"  Emmy  cried  out, 
so  contrite  and  humble,  that  William  turned  oif  the  con- 
versation, by  his  account  of  Glorvina  and  dear  old  Peggy 
O'Dowd,  with  whom  he  was  sitting  when  the  letter  of 
recall  reached  him.  "  If  vou  hadn't  sent  for  me,"  he 
added  with  a  laugh,  "  who  knows  what  Glorvina's  name 
might  be  now?  " 

At  present  it  is  Glorvina  Posky  (now  INIrs.  Major 
Posky),  she  took  him  on  the  death  of  his  first  wife; 
having  resolved  never  to  marry  out  of  the  regiment. 
Lady  O'Dowd  is  also  so  attached  to  it  that,  she  says, 
if  anything  were  to  happen  to  Mick,  bedad  she'd  come 
back  and  marry  some  of  'em.  But  the  ]\Iajor-General 
is  quite  well,  and  lives  in  great  splendour  at  O'Dowds- 
town,  with  a  pack  of  beagles  and  (with  the  exception 
of  perhaps  their  neighbour,  Hoggarty  of  Castle  Hog- 
garty)  he  is  the  first  man  of  his  county.  Her  Ladyship 
still  dances  jigs,  and  insisted  on  standing  up  with  the 


A  NOVEL   ^\  ITHOUT   A  HERO        365 

^Master  of  the  Horse  at  the  Lord  Lieutenant's  last  ball. 
Both  she  and  Glorvina  declared  that  Dobbin  had  used 
the  latter  sheamfuUij,  but  Posky  falling  in,  Glorvina 
was  consoled,  and  a  beautiful  turban  from  Paris  ap- 
peased the  wrath  of  Lady  O'Dowd. 

When  Colonel  Dobbin  quitted  the  service,  which  he 
did  immediately  after  his  marriage,  he  rented  a  pretty 
little  country  place  in  Hampshire,  not  far  from  Queen's 
Crawley,  where,  after  the  passing  of  the  Reform  Bill, 
Sir  Pitt  and  his  family  constantly  resided  now.  All 
idea  of  a  Peerage  was  out  of  the  question,  the  baronet's 
two  seats  in  Parliament  being  lost.  He  was  both  out  of 
pocket  and  out  of  spirits  by  that  catastrophe,  failed  in 
his  health,  and  prophesied  the  speedy  ruin  of  the  Em- 
pire. 

Lady  Jane  and  ]Mrs.  Dobbin  became  great  friends — 
there  was  a  perpetual  crossing  of  pony-chaises  between 
the  Hall  and  the  Evergreens,  the  Colonel's  place  (rented 
of  his  friend  Major  Ponto,  who  was  abroad  with  his 
family).  Her  Ladyship  was  godmother  to  ]Mrs.  Dob- 
bin's child,  which  bore  her  name,  and  was  christened  by 
the  Rev.  James  Crawley,  who  succeeded  his  father  in 
the  living:  and  a  pretty  close  friendship  subsisted  be- 
tween the  two  lads,  George  and  Rawdon,  who  hunted 
and  shot  together  in  the  vacations,  were  both  entered  of 
the  same  College  at  Cambridge,  and  quarrelled  with 
each  other  about  I^ady  Jane's  daughter,  with  whom  they 
were  both,  of  course,  in  love.  A  match  between  (reorge 
and  that  young  lady  was  long  a  favom'ite  scheme  of 
lK)th  the  matrons,  though  I  Iiave  heard  that  Miss  Craw- 
ley herself  inclined  towards  her  cousin. 

Mrs.  Rawdon  Crawley's  name  was  never  mentioned 
by  either  family.     There  were  reasons  why  all  should 

VOL.  III. 


366  VANITY  FAIR 

be  silent  regarding  her.  For  wherever  ]Mr.  Joseph  Sed- 
ley  went,  she  travelled  likewise;  and  that  infatuated 
man  seemed  to  be  entirely  her  slave.  The  Colonel's 
lawyers  informed  him  that  his  brother-in-law  had  ef- 
fected a  heavy  insurance  upon  his  life,  whence  it  was 
probable  that  he  had  been  raising  money  to  discharge 
debts.  He  procured  prolonged  leave  of  absence  from 
the  East  India  House,  and  indeed  his  infirmities  were 
daily  increasing. 

On  hearing  the  news  about  the  insurance,  Amelia,  in 
a  good  deal  of  alarm,  entreated  her  husband  to  go  to 
Brussels,  where  Jos  then  was,  and  inquire  into  the  state 
of  his  affairs.  The  Colonel  quitted  home  with  reluctance 
(for  he  was  deeply  immersed  in  his  "  History  of  the 
Punjaub,"  which  still  occupies  him,  and  much  alarmed 
about  his  little  daughter,  whom  he  idolizes,  and  who  was 
just  recovering  from  the  chicken-pox),  and  went  to 
Brussels  and  found  Jos  living  at  one  of  the  enormous 
hotels  in  that  city.  Mrs.  Crawley,  who  had  her  carriage, 
gave  entertainments,  and  lived  in  a  very  genteel  man- 
ner, occupied  another  suite  of  apartments  in  the  same 
hotel. 

The  Colonel,  of  course,  did  not  desire  to  see  that  ladv, 
or  even  think  proper  to  notify  his  arrival  at  Brussels, 
except  privately  to  Jos  by  a  message  through  his  valet. 
Jos  begged  the  Colonel  to  come  and  see  him  that  night, 
when  Mrs.  Crawley  would  be  at  a  soiree,  and  when  they 
could  meet  alone.  He  found  his  brother-in-law  in  a 
condition  of  pitiable  infirmity;  and  dreadfully  afraid 
of  Rebecca,  though  eager  in  his  praises  of  her.  She 
tended  him  through  a  series  of  unheard-of  illnesses,  with 
a  fidelity  most  admirable.     She  had  been  a  daughter  to 


Becky'a  second  appearance  in 
the  character  of  Clj'temnestra 


A   NOVEL   WITHOUT   A  HERO        367 

him.  "  But — but — oh,  for  God's  sake,  do  come  and  Hve 
near  me,  and — and — see  me  sometimes,"  whimpered  out 
the  unfortunate  man. 

The  Colonel's  brow  darkened  at  this.  "  We  can't, 
Jos,"  he  said.  ''  Considering  the  circumstances,  Amelia 
can't  \  isit  you." 

"I  swear  to  you — I  swear  to  you  on  the  Bible," 
gasped  out  Joseph,  wanting  to  kiss  the  book,  "  that  she 
is  as  innocent  as  a  child,  as  spotless  as  your  own  wife." 

"'It  may  be  so,"  said  the  Colonel,  gloomily;  "but 
Enimv  can't  come  to  vou.  Be  a  man,  Jos:  break  off 
this  disreputable  connection.  Come  home  to  your  fam- 
ily.   We  hear  your  affairs  are  involved." 

"  Involved!  "  cried  Jos.  "'  Who  has  told  such  calum- 
nies ?  All  my  money  is  placed  out  most  advantageously. 
]NIrs.  Crawley — that  is — I  mean,  —  it  is  laid  out  to  the 
best  interest." 

"You  are  not  in  debt,  then?  AVhy  did  you  insure 
yoiu*  life? " 

"  I  thought — a  little  present  to  her — in  case  anything 
happened;  and  you  know  my  health  is  so  delicate — com- 
mon gratitude  you  know  — and  I  intend  to  leave  all 
my  money  to  you — and  1  can  S])are  it  out  of  my 
income,  indeed  I  can,"  cried  out  AVilliam's  weak  brother- 
in-law. 

The  Colonel  besought  Jos  to  fly  at  once — to  go  back 
to  India,  whither  ]Mrs.  Crawley  could  not  follow  him; 
to  do  anything  to  ])reak  off  a  connection  which  might 
have  tlie  most  fatal  consefiuences  to  him. 

.Tos  clas])C'd  Iiis  liands,  and  cried, — "  He  would  go 
back  to  India.  He  would  do  anytliing:  only  he  nnist 
have  time:    thev  nmstn't  sav  aiivthing  to  Mrs.  Craw- 


368  VANITY  FAIR 

ley:— she'd— she'd  kill  me  if  she  knew  it.  You  don't 
know  what  a  terrible  woman  she  is,"  the  j)oor  wretch 
said. 

"  Then,  why  not  come  away  with  me?  "  said  Dobbin 
in  reply;  but  Jos  had  not  the  covu'age.  "  He  would  see 
Dobbin  again  in  the  morning;  he  must  on  no  account 
say  that  he  had  been  there.  He  must  go  now.  Becky 
might  come  in."  And  Dobbin  quitted  him  full  of  fore- 
bodings. 

He  never  saw  Jos  more.  Three  months  afterwards 
Joseph  Sedley  died  at  Aix-la-Chapelle.  It  was  found 
that  all  his  property  had  been  muddled  away  in  specu- 
lations, and  was  represented  by  valueless  shares  in  dif- 
ferent bubble  companies.  All  his  available  assets  were 
the  two  thousand  pounds  for  which  his  life  was  insured, 
and  which  were  left  equally  between  his  beloved  "  sister 
Amelia,  wife  of,  &c.,  and  his  friend  and  invaluable  at- 
tendant during  sickness,  Rebecca,  wife  of  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Rawdon  Crawley,  C.B.,"  who  was  appointed 
administratrix. 

The  solicitor  of  the  Insurance  Company  swore  it  was 
the  blackest  case  that  ever  had  come  before  him ;  talked 
of  sending  a  commission  to  Aix  to  examine  into  the 
death,  and  the  Company  refused  payment  of  the  policy. 
But  Mrs.,  or  Lady  Crawley,  as  she  styled  herself,  came 
to  town  at  once  (attended  with  her  solicitors,  Messrs. 
Burke,  Thurtell,  and  Hayes,  of  Thavies  Inn),  and 
dared  the  Company  to  refuse  the  payment.  They  in- 
vited examination,  they  declared  that  she  was  the  object 
of  an  infamous  conspiracy,  which  had  been  pursuing  her 
all  through  life,  and  triumphed  finally.  The  money  was 
paid,  and  her  character  established,  but  Colonel  Dobbin 
sent  back  his  share  of  the  legacy  to  the  Insurance  Office, 


Virtue  re'warded;  A  booth, 
in  Vanity  Fair 


A   XOVKI.    WITHOUT   A   HERO        369 

and  riffidlv  declined  to  hold  anv  conmiunication  with 
Rebecca. 

She  never  was  Ladv  Crawlev,  thoimli  she  continued 
SO  to  call  herself.  His  Excellency  Colonel  Rawdon 
Crawlev  died  of  vellow  fever  at  Coventry  Island,  most 
deeply  beloved  and  deplored,  and  six  weeks  before  the 
demise  of  his  brother  Sir  Pitt.  The  estate  conse- 
quently devolved  upon  the  present  Sir  Rawdon  Craw- 
lev, Bart. 

He,  too,  has  declined  to  see  his  mother,  to  whom  he 
makes  a  liberal  allowance;  and  who,  besides,  appears  to 
be  very  wealthy.  The  Baronet  lives  entirely  at  Queen's 
Crawley,  with  Lady  Jane  and  her  daughter;  whilst  Re- 
])ecca,  Lady  Crawley,  chiefly  hangs  about  Bath  and  Chel- 
tenham, where  a  very  strong  party  of  excellent  people 
consider  her  to  be  a  most  injured  woman.  She  has  her 
enemies.  Who  has  not  ?  Her  life  is  her  answer  to  them. 
She  busies  herself  in  works  of  piety.  She  goes  to  church, 
and  never  without  a  footman.  Her  name  is  in  all  the 
Charity  Lists.  The  Destitute  Orange-girl,  the  Xeg- 
lected  Washerwoman,  the  Distressed  ]MufRn-man,  find 
in  her  a  fast  and  generous  friend.  She  is  always  having 
stalls  at  Fancy  Fairs  for  the  benefit  of  these  hapless 
beings.  Emmy,  her  children,  and  the  Colonel,  coming 
to  I^ondon  some  time  back,  found  themselves  suddenly 
before  her  at  one  of  these  fairs.  She  cast  down  her  eyes 
demurely  and  smiled  as  they  started  away  from  her; 
Emmy  skurrying  off  on  the  arm  of  George  (now  grown 
a  (lashing  young  gentleman),  and  the  Colonel  seizing 
up  liis  little  .Taney,  of  whom  he  is  fonder  than  of  any- 
tliiriL'-  iti  the  world  — fonder  even  than  of  his  "  History 
of  the  I'unjaub." 

"  I'onder  than  he  is  of  nie,"  liUimv  thinks,  u  itii  a  siuh. 


370 


VANITY  FAIR 


But  he  never  said  a  word  to  Amelia  that  was  not  kind 
and  gentle ;  or  thought  of  a  want  of  hers  that  he  did  not 
try  to  gratify. 

Ah!  Vanitas  Vanitatum!  wliich  of  us  is  happy  in 
this  world?  Which  of  us  has  his  desire?  or,  having  it, 
is  satisfied? — come,  children,  let  us  shut  up  the  box  and 
the  puppets,  for  our  play  is  played  out. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 

wAti24i351, 

REC'D  MLD 

&    ■fff'it^j 

FEB  2  3  196 

RETC  MUS-UB 

DEC  3  0l95t 

f 

NOV  1  6 1972 
DISg.HARGE-URL 

JUN  231959 

3 

rij.  ate  A  --- 

JUN  2  5  1979 
MARO  7 1988 

•J     196© 

MOV  241969 

MAS  7    m'i 

Sl  J"»    5 

Form  L9-42ot-8,'49(B5573)444 


s#'^ 


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'^'th.s  book  CARO   , 


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